Trial By Fire
by furygrrl
Summary: UPDATED Directly follows 'The Awakening' series. Certain truths are revealed, a momentous decision is made, bringing those involved ever closer to the fire storm to come... JeanLogan or is it? ::wicked grin::
1. Part One

Title: Trial By Fire - Part One  
Archive: Just ask first  
Disclaimer: I do not own ANY Marvel characters, song "Twilight" is by Vanessa Carlton. No copyright infringement intended.  
WARNING! PLEASE READ BEFORE CONTINUING!  
RATED 'R' - Violence, language, and sexual references. If this isn't for you, please go no further.  
Summary: X-Men Evolution - Directly follows 'The Awakening' series. The aftermath of Jean's attack and a new threat...  
A/N - Notes have been placed at the end to avoid spoilers.

* * *

She couldn't see. 

She knew her eyes were open, but the darkness that had swallowed her up surrounded her, impairing her vision completely.

Tentatively, she reached out a hand and touched...nothing.

A nervousness began to overtake her as she started walking, wrapping her arms around her naked, shivering body, darting glances around the black void she'd found herself in, seeking any source of light.

One step, then another, and then she was falling, down, down, down...

She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came forth, just the horrible sensation of dropping into the unknown.

When she landed, it was flat on her back, still within the shadowed pit of nowhere.

Before she could collect herself and rise, she felt a weight press against her, keeping her prone.

She struggled with heavy limbs, a terror flooding through her at the invisible touch, but to no avail. Whatever had her in its grip wasn't letting go.

A tickle started just below her collarbone, as if someone was brushing a feather along her skin, teasing her, lingering as if to get her attention, then slowly gliding down her body.

Her heart was fluttering, breaths coming in panting gasps as she once again tried to pull herself free from restraints hidden by the silent darkness. The tickle was becoming more insistent the lower it progressed, swirling lazily over her stomach repetitively until her skin began to crawl.

As if her unseen tormenter could sense her sudden agitation, it pressed down on her until she couldn't breathe, the docile, velvety touch turning into burning pinpricks that sent shock waves through her wriggling form.

And then there were hands - so many hands!

Hot, clammy, grabbing hands, prodding and poking her from all sides, smoothing over her breasts, running down her legs and pulling them apart, stretching her wide...

Eyes full of hysterical fear, she let out a shriek that only she could hear, the intensity of the cry echoing inside her head and shattering the nothingness.

Jean sat up, the sheets of her bed twisted around her, chest hammering painfully.

She looked around in confusion at finding herself safe in her room while reaching up unconsciously to brush tangled hair from her face. The bedside clock blinked innocently at her from its place on the night table, announcing that it was several minutes after four a.m.

Heart rate starting to slow to a more moderate pace, Jean urged her ragged breathing to follow suit, realizing that it had just been a nightmare...one of countless many...

She let her aching head fall forward into her hands, not surprised that her cheeks were wet with tears.

* * *

The next day dawned murky and cheerless. Heavy leaden clouds filled the sky, promising rain before the afternoon arrived. The air that passed through the small space of the slightly open window was cool and smelled faintly of autumn, of damp and wood smoke. Someone had a fireplace full of warmth nearby even though it was nearly summer, the burning wood lightly scenting the breeze. 

Jean let the gauzy curtain fall from nerveless fingers, not having the energy to even sigh over such a drab morning as she might have done in the past. She sat back on the bed, pulling up her rumpled duvet and cuddling it around her shivering form. She briefly debated just going back to sleep. It was technically a school day, but only for those who had exams to write, and thankfully she had none.

It was Friday.

7 days had passed since the night of the formal, since the night the word 'rape' had become more than just a word to her.

She leaned back into her pillows, the covers following her movement so that they tucked under her chin. Her wide eyes stared without seeing, blankly assessing the ceiling as she thought, the vibrant green of her gaze lackluster, still haunted.

Jean had been able to keep her secret to herself since that night, no one suspected that anything untoward had happened to her - with the exception of those that had been involved, of course. She still smiled, managed to force her laughter, went on about her normal routine as well as she could, anything to keep suspicion as far away from her as possible.

She smiled beneath her blankets, a cold, bitter curve of her lips.

_If I'd known that I was such a good actress, I might have tried out for some school plays rather than the soccer team_... she thought, knowing deep down that her pretense was only one half of the victory. The other successful part of the subterfuge was a far less appealing realization, and she fought dwelling on it as much as possible.

But today, alone, acknowledging her depression, she allowed herself the indulgence and let her mind skitter over to where she'd locked away her darkest thoughts, touching on the most recent and most painful.

_My friends, practically my family...they can't see beyond the façade, can't be bothered to look deeper..._

She felt a wave of bleakness thread through her already overtaxed system, a familiar wetness touch her cheeks as her eyes welled at the lack of concern that she'd encountered from those nearest and dearest her heart.

Jean knew she was good at hiding her feelings - being a telepath, someone who caught errant thoughts as easily as she did had taught her how to mask her emotions, keep a blank face when necessary.

But not so good that her pain should go unnoticed by those who lived with her, or so she believed.

_Hell_, she told herself as she rolled onto her side, _they haven't even asked if anything's wrong. As if dark circles under my eyes are an everyday thing, or missing classes was normal. If it was anyone else, I know **I'd** be concerned_.

She brushed a hand across her face to rid her skin of her tears, watching the leaves on the trees outside her window as they rode the wind, spiraling from their branches to places unknown.

Sighing, she closed her eyes wearily. She hadn't had a decent night's sleep since the attack, her dreams were more than nightmares, full of terror that followed her into wakefulness and never seemed to leave her side no matter how hard she tried to shield herself. Just thinking about it made her shiver within her cocoon of warmth.

_It's not their fault, Jean_, a voice said from inside her head, trying to reason with her. _They don't have any cause to suspect something's wrong. Lack of sleep, mood swings, cutting a few classes - those are all characteristic of your age group, none of them are an indication of something more serious..._

Jean rubbed her head against the pillow, trying to escape what she saw as excuses for her teammates' behaviour as they ran through her mind, trying to drown out that perfectly reasonable voice that had begun to intervene for them of late.

_My age group, yes, but not characteristic of **me**_... she argued internally.

Her inner voice sighed, sounding exasperated, as if she knew deep down she was being unfair but wouldn't permit logic to interfere with her tightly restrained emotions.

_Nothing short of you telling them is going to make them aware that there's a problem...but you still can't bring yourself to do that, can you? You want them to know so you can unburden your soul, begin to heal, yet you continue to tell yourself that you'd rather die than have them find out about what's happened. You can't tell these people - people that you claim to love and trust, whose love and support you desire in return, that you've been -_

"Enough!" Jean sat up, eyes tightly closed, hands clenched with anger. She wasn't even aware that she'd spoken out loud until a voice in the hall called out to her through her bedroom door.

"Uh...Jean? Everything all right in there?" Evan asked, knuckles tapping on the other side of the door.

Jean stared in the direction his voice came from, blinking in confusion.

"Yeah. I'm fine," she said when she found the words to respond.

"Okay." He took her at her word, his footsteps receding, and Jean was once again alone.

She continued to look at the door even after many minutes of silence had passed, fingers absently running through her tousled hair.

"I'm fine..." she repeated in a whisper.

The wind stirred beyond her window a final time, as if wordlessly echoing her pain, before the first icy drops of rain fell from the darkened sky. It misted along the horizon, blurring the harsh lines of the trees and all that lay in the distance.

Jean turned to the sight as the sound of rain hitting the glass attracted her attention, feeling her eyes burn with the need to spill out her misery at the situation she'd found herself in.

But she wouldn't cry again, at least not today.

It was like the heavens were already weeping for her.

* * *

"Have fun, Hank," Logan snorted, eyes never leaving the newspaper he was reading as the furry blue mutant known as Beast appeared in the kitchen's doorway, a large bag slung across his broad back. 

"Oh, I intend to Logan. The archaeological dig I've planned for the students will be most exciting," Hank said with a grin, canine teeth showing prominently as his smile widened.

Logan only flipped the newspaper closed and sat back in his chair, tipping his morning beer towards his mouth.

"Are you sure I can't convince you to come along? It will be very educational," Hank entreated.

Logan laughed and shook his head. "Are you kiddin'? Chuck needs someone to mind the house 'til he gets back from Washington, and that means my first weekend all to myself since I got here. No kids, no fighting, no whining, none of that garbage any of them listen to and call music. Being alone never sounded so good." He flashed a grin of his own as he got up from his seat, falling into step beside Beast as he headed towards the hangar.

Beast gave his friend a sly look as Logan finished listing off his reasons for staying behind. "Ah, but you won't be completely alone so don't start celebrating yet," Hank said, waving the waiting group of students onto the Blackbird, smiling as they piled aboard eagerly.

Logan frowned at his colleague, hands thrust into the pockets of his pants, waiting for Beast to elaborate.

"Jean's elected to deprive us of her most welcome presence - said she wasn't feeling very well," the other mutant replied, sounding a little disappointed.

"Jean? She's staying here?" Logan asked, trying very hard to keep his voice neutral.

Hank nodded, lifting a trunk of supplies and hefting it onto his muscled shoulder as easily as if it didn't weigh several hundreds of pounds. "Yes. I didn't argue with her because she's an excellent student - this excursion would have been enjoyable for her, but not completely necessary." He frowned a moment later. In a hushed voice, though no one was around to overhear, he added, "I've also noticed she's been looking...behaving...rather unlike herself recently. Withdrawn...tired. I think a weekend of rest would be better for her than a campout in the Alberta Badlands, looking for signs of dinosaurs."

Logan, still surprised at finding out that he'd have company for the next couple of days - and that it was the last person he'd expect it to be - could only nod at Beast's comments, not able to meet his friend's eyes.

"Take care that she doesn't overdo it while we're gone. Encourage her to stay in, to relax - and if you feel up to it, try and find out what's weighing so heavily on her mind. It may be nothing more than common female hormones that are so prevalent at her age, but it would be nice to know that for certain," Beast advised, giving Logan a final, parting wink before he moved over to the boarding ramp of the jet.

Logan watched the ramp rise up behind his friend, then tilted his head so that he got a glimpse of the blue mutant through the small windows of the cockpit as he slipped in beside Ororo. Backing away, Logan waved a final time to his fellow instructors before the Blackbird's engines screamed to life, making the entire room shudder as it echoed the machine's rumbling.

The bay doors slid open slowly and the jet inched forward, the screaming suddenly flaring into an almost soundless whine as the engines powered up to full. The wheels started rolling as Hank maneuvered the sleek metal bird into gear, directing it to the exit that was hidden from the outside by a surging waterfall. Seconds later, the jet thundered down the enclosed runway, leaving nothing behind but the smell of burnt rubber and silence, the echo of the waterfall and the high-pitched ringing in Logan's ears the only sounds that interfered.

Logan rubbed a hand across his chin, feeling the prickles of stubble against his palm as he confronted the thought of a weekend alone with Jean.

Although stunned at first, he realized that he didn't find the thought as disturbing as he thought he would. In fact, though he would have liked to pretend otherwise, the situation was tantalizing, filling him with a rush of excitement and heating his blood with expectation all at once. He actually had to fight down the sudden trembling of desire that made things tighten low in his body.

He walked back down the hallway towards the inside of the mansion, letting the doors to the hangar slide closed behind him with a whoosh. He bypassed the kitchen and strode into the foyer, finally hesitating at the bottom of the stairs, one hand on the solid oak balustrade as he gazed up to the dim hallway above.

A million thoughts raced through his head as he pictured Jean sitting in her bedroom.

His grip on the banister tightened involuntarily.

None of them involved anything to do with his being a teacher or a parental figure, or her being a student in his care...or clothes for that matter.

Logan shook his head angrily, willing such images out of his mind as he forced himself to remember - remember that she hadn't spoken more than two words to him since she'd come home from her 'all nighter' as the other students had called it.

That she was dealing with something that he couldn't just 'fix'.

That she probably wouldn't rush to him now just because he'd suddenly opened his arms to her, like she'd been begging him to do for the last few months.

_Jesus, Logan. It's barely been a week since - since...and all you can think about is yourself..._

His inner voice was so thick with disgust that he wasn't even sure it belonged to him.

He closed his eyes, breathing calmly for a few seconds, urging his body to regain control. His blood stopped racing and his heart rate slowed. The twinges from between his legs lasted a moment longer, and then they too were gone.

Logan let out a final breath and glanced back up the stairs, a myriad of emotions evident in his eyes as he weighed his options. He let his hand drop from the banister, stuffing it in his pocket once again, turning to go back the way he came. His shaggy hair swung into his eyes as he retreated, angry with himself.

Not sure of how to approach the situation, how to help her, he did the only thing he could do at that moment.

He walked away.

* * *

Jean rolled over, eyelids fluttering open as she woke. 

The gloom that filled the room said that it was late afternoon, that she'd managed to actually sleep for some small measure of time. She stroked her fingers across her face, brushing sleep from her eyes groggily. Groaning, she curled up on her side.

Rather than feeling refreshed, she felt worse than if she hadn't slept at all. Her head seemed to be stuffed with cotton, leaving her thoughts hazy and indistinct. Her limbs were heavy, like sandbags, and a faint quiver of nausea nibbled along the lining of her stomach.

_I should just stay here. Maybe I'll waste away...die...and then I won't feel bad at all... _she told herself, eyes closing again as she burrowed back into her blankets.

She lay there for a minute, ready to head back into her thankfully dreamless slumber, until she realized how thirsty she was.

Crawling out of bed, she tugged her thigh-length nightshirt back to some semblance of order, grabbing her robe and belting it about her slim waist as an afterthought. Barefoot, she padded across her carpeted room and out into the silent, dimly lit hallway. Making her way down the stairs, she noticed the absence of sound - no voices, no laughter, not even the usual blare of the television. Just the faint pattering of rain on the roof above her.

She wondered absently where everyone was.

Once in the kitchen, she flicked on the light with her teke and took a heavy glass tumbler from the cupboard. Running cool, clear water into the glass, she drank it down greedily in great gulps, refilling it before she'd even finished. She sipped on the second glass more slowly, thirst sated for the moment, and merely leaned against the countertop, still unsure of why the house was so empty.

The high-pitched ring of the telephone suddenly filled the silent void, making her jump and slosh water over the rim of her glass and down her arm, soaking the sleeve of her robe. Muttering in irritation as she dried herself off with a tea towel, she noticed that there was no second ring, that someone had answered it. She looked down the hall that branched off from the kitchen, noticing a light at the end of the corridor coming from the Professor's study, a shadow moving within the thin golden wash.

Jean walked towards the room, curious as to who was there.

Approaching the study, she hesitated at hearing Logan's hushed voice coming from within. He was in the midst of a conversation.

"...you know I'd do it if it was just me alone, Chuck, but Jeannie's here... Yeah, yeah, stayed behind... Uh-huh... Hank said she didn't hafta go with 'em if she didn't want to - said she should rest up instead."

Jean leaned forward to look into the room, seeing the phone pressed to Logan's ear as he talked, his back to her. She felt as if a light bulb had gone off in her head at his words.

The archaeological dig in Alberta. That's where everyone was. She'd told Mr. McCoy that morning that she wasn't going to be attending.

She rubbed her face with her free hand, feeling stupid for not remembering, listening as Logan continued speaking.

"Do you think she'd be okay if I just took off? Right... Yeah... I don't know if she's up to any kind of mission right now, especially one like this... Mm-hmm... It's that important, eh?"

Moving without thinking, Jean pushed the door open all the way and stepped into the room, letting the glow of the lamp reveal her to Logan as he turned around. Her eyes met his without flinching, then watched as his expression went from surprised at seeing her standing on the room's threshold before smoothing into something that she couldn't read.

"...yeah, yeah, hold on a sec, Charles - Jean's here right now." He pressed the phone against his chest and stared at her. "Thought you were asleep," he said, his voice low, careful.

Jean nodded, wrapping both hands around her glass of water like it was something protective. "I was. What's going on?" she queried, voice equally hushed.

Logan shook his head, eyes becoming guarded. He half raised the phone from his chest, as if intending to go back to his conversation without speaking further to her.

"Nothin' to concern yourself with." He said it as if he meant it, making Jean even more curious.

Logan's eyes flicked over her before she could reply, taking in her mussed appearance, her pale, tired face. He shook his head again, his mouth set in grim lines, like he was angry with her for some reason.

"You should get back to bed. You need to rest, Dr. McCoy's orders," he said, his tone matching the look on his face.

Jean stared back at him, not sure what his problem was, not particularly caring, either.

"What mission?" she prompted, coming closer to him, eyeing the phone with sudden interest.

"Nothin'. Now go back upstairs," Logan growled, holding the receiver up and away from her, like he expected her to make a grab for it.

Xavier's voice could be heard coming from the one end, calling for Logan to put Jean on.

"I think he wants to talk to me," Jean said, putting the glass on a side table, reaching out for the phone.

Logan looked at her, then at the phone, a flash of confusion showing in his eyes before he passed it over to her with unconcealed annoyance.

"Hello, Professor," Jean said, watching as Logan turned away from her to face the windows as she began speaking.

"Good afternoon, Jean. I wasn't expecting to hear your voice today, I've been told you're unwell. How are you feeling?" Xavier's warm, yet concerned voice sounded in her ear.

The redhead's lips parted for her now-automated response. "I'm fine."

"I'm glad to hear that. I was just telling Logan that I needed his expertise on a critical matter, but he was a little unsure as to whether he could leave you home alone in your current condition."

Jean felt a bitter laugh bubble up in her chest at her mentor's words, though she clamped it down firmly.

_I'm always alone in my 'current condition'. Nothing can change that... _whispered in her skull.

"What matter is that?" she questioned instead, her interest piqued by Logan's resistance to whatever the issue was.

"It need not concern you, Jean. If you think you can manage by yourself for the night, then only Logan needs to hear about it."

Logan reached out a hand, as if he knew she'd been dismissed from the conversation.

Jean kept her grip on the plastic handle a moment longer, unsure of what she wanted to do, yet knowing instinctively that she didn't want to be left alone in the big house with its shadows and tangible silence for any true length of time.

_Alone_, she repeated to herself. _Nothing but the darkness, the depression, the nightmares...and me_.

She moved away from Logan, twisting the phone cord around her wrist agitatedly as she did so, fighting the trembling that was already starting to make her fingers twitch.

"If it's all the same to you, Professor, I'd like to go too," she said earnestly, trying to keep the fear, the desperation from colouring her tone. He'd know something was up if he heard it.

"I don't know, Jean. It will be quite dangerous. Are you sure you're feeling up to it?" The doubt was carefully masked in his response, but Jean could tell that he wasn't completely against her going, just concerned for her welfare.

"Absolutely. I was only tired today, I'm more than ready for a change of pace," she promised, holding her breath at the end, biting the inside of her lip.

Silence from Xavier's end, and then a sigh.

"Alright. I'm going against my better judgement, but I'd feel better knowing that Logan wasn't getting involved in this situation without support. Go and get into uniform and I'll have Logan fill you in on the details when I've finished speaking with him. Could you please ask him to take the phone again?"

Jean looked back to Logan who was waiting for the phone impatiently, his hand held out peremptorily. She dropped it into his palm without comment, retrieving her water as he turned back to the window, leaving her staring at the black t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders, outlining the corded muscles underneath.

"Yeah...yeah...mmm-hmm... Fine, whatever you think is best, Charles. Talk to you then."

The receiver was set back on its cradle.

Jean stood quietly, poised to leave and get dressed, waiting. Logan didn't turn to face her immediately.

"Well?" she asked, impatient to know what the mission was.

Logan finally looked over to her, eyes glittering dangerously, a tenseness radiating from his body.

"I don't know how you managed to get yourself involved, but I'll tell ya right now that I'm against it. I don't need back-up, don't need someone cramping my style, don't want you coming," he growled, striding past her on his way down the hall.

Jean trailed after him into the kitchen, not caring that she was sloshing water again as she did so.

"I'm going with you, like it or not," she retorted, dropping the glass into the sink, watching as Logan pulled a beer from the fridge. He pried the cap off with a single claw and immediately drank the liquid down.

Feeling ignored - and not liking it one bit, Jean put her hands on her hips and set her face into determined lines.

"Why wouldn't you want me to go with you?" she challenged, channelling all her negativity into the confrontation with him.

She didn't want to admit it to herself, but she found it vaguely satisfying to be able to put her recently acquired animosity towards Logan to use, to do something other than avoid looking at him when in the same room. While she didn't blame him for what happened to her a week ago, she still found it impossible to forgive the role he played in that evening of horror - how his fear of being close to her had left her so vulnerable, so completely alone.

Logan shook his head at her question, refusing to meet her eyes. His mouth opened once, twice, before snapping shut, as if unsure of what to say. He finally settled on a half-truth, probably hoping harshness would succeed where reason would fail.

"You're not up to it, not yet. You can't be counted on without a level head on your shoulders. You'll wind up getting one or both of us hurt." He looked up in time to catch her flinch at his remarks.

"A level head? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she whispered, shocked that he would use her justifiably shaken emotions against her, feeling her throat constrict as another bout of tears threatened. She pushed the urge to cry back into her stomach, knowing that if he saw moisture gathering in her eyes, it would just prove his point.

Besides, she didn't know if she'd be able to stop once she started, not while facing him.

Hearing the thinly concealed hurt in her voice, Logan realized instinctively that he'd gone about the situation incorrectly, but it was too late to recant. He just huffed into the neck of his beer bottle, not answering, taking another swig of the amber liquid.

"Jeannie..." he finally murmured after the silence between them lengthened, head bowed as he studied his booted feet.

"Don't," she interrupted before he could say anything else.

Their few words coupled with the subsequent quiet was the closest either of them had come to discussing what had transpired a week ago, and it was only serving to unnerve Jean more. She had tensed up when Logan murmured her name, her stomach clenching into a little ball of ice at the prospect of having a conversation about those events with him, making her cut him off before he could continue. She couldn't bring herself to talk about what had happened - not to Logan, not now.

Maybe not ever.

Logan was looking to her, watching, waiting for her to speak.

Jean lifted her chin a fraction as she faced him down, needing little effort to seem distant, cold, determined.

"I _will _be going with you, Logan. The Professor has seen fit to include me and - and..." She grappled for a lie before deciding that the truth would serve her better. "And because I need to do something - anything, that will keep me from dwelling on that night. Staying in an empty house with nothing but bad memories for company isn't going to help me. I need you to understand that."

Logan seemed thoughtful, his fingers playing over the glass of the beer bottle as his mind absorbed her quiet words. His eyes filled with a pain his carefully schooled features didn't mirror as he nodded his head, gaze going to the floor once again. He used the long strands of his hair to hide the naked guilt that swam across his vision, his own feelings of despair her hurt forced up within him, before closing his eyes entirely in defeat. He sighed.

"I hadn't thought about it that way," he admitted after a moment, gripping the bottle tightly. "I won't leave ya alone, Jeannie," he added softly before draining the last of his beer and setting the empty bottle back on the table. He rubbed the heel of his palm across his face before his eyes could seek her out again, hoping that she wouldn't notice how much of his heart was visible in their dark depths.

She wasn't ready for him to throw that at her yet, no matter how much he wanted her to be.

"I just want you to know that all I'm trying to do is keep you safe," he murmured, watching her blank expression stare back at him.

She made no sound, no gesture, just stared.

Logan wondered if she'd heard him, but she finally nodded and pushed herself away from where she leaned against the counter.

As she moved past him to begin getting dressed, he caught a glimpse of her face as it altered to become vaguely mocking, leaving Logan with the impression that she had left something unspoken.

It wasn't until he heard her footsteps fade that a voice whispered inside his skull - whether it Jean using her telepathy or his inner self adding its two cents, he wasn't sure - but it asked the question that she'd been unable to put into words all the same.

_Like you kept me safe **that** night, Logan?_

Hearing it, even in his mind, filled him with such shame induced rage that his vision blurred red, his hands slamming down on the table forcefully - shattering the beer bottle and embedding tiny shards of glass beneath his skin. The beads of blood that welled up briefly before his body healed itself went unnoticed by his fury-blinded eyes.

It was like all of the other questions that had plagued him of late.

It left him angry and empty and wild...

Because he had no answer for it.

* * *

"So what exactly are we doing here?" Jean asked when their big, black SUV finally rolled to a halt, her eyes studying the forested darkness surrounding them.

Since the Blackbird was already in service, and the X-1 - the alternate, smaller aircraft the team normally used - was still in the midst of repairs, their only option was to drive to where they needed to go. Thankfully, it hadn't been far - a couple hours north of Bayville, a westward twist through a long stretch of farm country, before the highway was abandoned completely in favour of an unpaved, unlit road, surrounded by trees.

Jean heard Logan pop open his door, felt the cool rush of wind that entered the car as he stepped out.

"And for that matter, where the hell _is_ 'here'?" Jean mumbled to herself as she followed his lead, leaving the warmth of the car for the nearly entirely black space without, shivering as the first drops of icy rain hit her skin.

Logan didn't respond, so she moved around the front of the car.

"Don't you think it's time to tell me what we're doing?" she asked in a hushed voice, though still making her irritation known.

The entire drive across the state had been filled with her requesting information about their mission, only to be met with his stony silence and the odd, solitarily-worded rebuff.

Jean had little patience left for his stubbornness.

Logan's head turned to her. His eyes were like black pits that blended perfectly with the darkness. Jean tried to stop from shivering under his scrutiny.

"There's a government funded installation a few miles ahead. Xavier wants us in and out after a quick look around and back home as soon as possible. We'll leave the car here and go in on foot," Logan said, going back to his survey of the woodland.

Jean shook her head, confused. "We're in the middle of nowhere. What could possibly be out here that would interest the Professor?" she asked, stumbling to follow Logan as he began moving through the brush.

He didn't look back as he replied, his tightly amused tone carrying easily on the chill wind. "That's what we're here to find out."

They walked for the better part of half an hour, Logan leading, choosing their path without hesitation, Jean trying her best to keep pace with him. After fighting her way through mud, brambles, and the occasional waist-high log that fell across their path, Jean became tired and cold. She mutely cursed herself for wanting to be a part of this now arduous adventure - for needing to do this to keep the disturbing memories that continued to haunt her from taking over, like they would assuredly have done should she have remained behind alone - for feeling the need to prove herself.

Since the night Duncan and his friends had taken advantage of her incapacitated state, she'd been left feeling helpless...weak...vulnerable. Logan calling her judgement and abilities into question had rankled, pricked something deep within, and she had known with sudden certainty, after he'd admitted his doubts, that she didn't want those feelings living inside her anymore.

As she brooded on that thought, she looked up and watched Logan's solid form moving ahead of her, his muscular body passing through the wet foliage with an ease she envied. Neither the rain nor the darkness seemed to hamper his ability to find their way over the unfamiliar terrain. Combined, these skills - even though she'd always been fully aware of them, urged a swell of grudging admiration to fill her chest, bringing to mind the ever raging question that had tormented her since he'd failed her.

_How do I feel about him now?_

Anger, disappointment, and an overwhelming sadness were her first reactions to that thought, and had been since the query had surfaced, never changing, not leaving room for any sense of forgiveness. After their encounter in the garden where she'd foolishly admitted her then-feelings for him, she'd believed that her love for him would be enough to bring him around, to help him realize that he had feelings for her. Even when his reaction had been violent, hurtful, prompting her to give him the cold shoulder her injured pride had demanded, she'd still held on to hope. To her mind, his vehemence on the subject only lent credence to her belief that he cared for her more deeply than he knew, and that he'd lashed out in the only manner he could when presented with the truth.

But things had changed in the blink of an eye - irrevocably, and for the worse. She wondered desolately if those changes were truly a permanent part of her now, for both herself and Logan.

Blinded by the rain that battered her face despite the scraggly tree cover, lost in thought, she tripped over another exposed tree root, her outstretched hands wind-milling at her sides in an effort to break her fall. She braced herself for the impact of the sodden ground, only to find her downward motion halted by a pair of warm hands gripping her upper arms. The hands were gentle as they steadied her before pulling her upright - and almost fully against the wide expanse of chest that belonged to Logan.

Startled, instantly unsettled by the unexpected contact, Jean angled her head back, ready to pull away from him - but seeing his face so close to hers caught her off guard.

His lips, moist from the rain and slightly parted with his breathing, were mere inches from her own. Rivulets of water dripped down his face, spiking his lashes together and creating an almost delicate framework for his night-darkened eyes. Looking into those glittering twin pools, feeling his fingers tighten slightly on her arms, the nearness of his body radiating heat against her own chilled skin, left Jean staring up at him helplessly. Her wide eyes searched his face, asking the questions her mouth couldn't form, her constricted chest couldn't provide air to voice. She knew she was trembling in his grip, and admitted to herself that it wasn't due completely to the rain that had so totally penetrated her clothing.

_Do I still love you?_

_After all that's happened, can I still feel for you what I once believed I did?_

_Are those feelings even possible anymore?_

Logan returned her stare, trapped by the other's eyes, seemingly able to pick up on the thoughts flowing through them as quickly as the rain was the sky. His mouth moved, teeth shown as the faintest glimmer of white against the darkness, as if he wanted the use the moment they'd found themselves in to reply to her unspoken questions with secret answers of his own. He drew her closer to him unconsciously without speaking, until her breasts lightly brushed across his chest, her face a hair's breadth away from his.

Nearly pressed against his body, Jean could feel that his breathing had become heavier, faster, and the knowledge left her mouth dry and sent her thoughts spinning. She didn't protest, didn't know what to do, except that she wished he'd say something - anything - that might help her sort out her tangled emotions. She begged him to do so with her pleading eyes while the rain streaked across her cheeks and trickled down her neck.

Logan seemed to want to lean closer to her, to fill the small space he'd left between their bodies. His head wavered with his indecision even as his hips crowded against Jean's, his frame fairly quivering with anticipation. Surprised by this unexpected, uncertain behaviour, she could only watch, breathless and nervously rigid, waiting to see what he was going to do next...

A flash illuminated Jean's vision - white and blinding like a jolt of electricity.

The hands holding her were no longer Logan's.

They were hands holding her down.

The mouth edging towards hers was now set in a face she loathed more than anything else in the world.

Coldness gripped her - and fear...such unreasonable, instantaneous _fear_...

The memory only lasted a second, but it was enough to send Jean flying back against Logan's hold on her, allowing her to break free, to stand huddled and shivering half a step away. "_Don't touch me_!" she hissed automatically, thoughtlessly, her voice not sounding like her own.

_Oh God... _she thought when she realized what had just occurred, what she'd just said. _What the hell is happening to me?_

Warily, she looked up to Logan, eyes beseeching - but for what, she didn't know.

He'd moved back several steps to give her space, his face like a thunderhead. A low sound was rumbling in his throat as he watched her, but Jean wasn't sure if his anger was directed towards her or himself. She wrapped her arms around her upper torso as the memory of his warmth dissipated, and merely stared back at him, hugging herself tightly.

Logan's shadowed face lost the fierceness in favour of what she could only call grimness, and something else she couldn't read as she studied him.

"Logan..." she whispered, wanting to explain what she'd just experienced, but not able to find the words.

He didn't give her time to collect herself, just waved for her to follow him again. "Watch yer step, Red," was all he muttered, the words barely above a growl, before stalking off ahead of her.

Standing amidst the drowning spring weeds, Jean swiped a hand across her rain-slicked face, attempting to regroup her thoughts as she watched Logan walk away. She shook her head, still not sure what to think about him, herself, or their situation. If anything, what had just happened had left her even more lost, more heartbroken, more numb inside than before.

She hadn't known such combined misery could exist.

The only thing she knew for certain was that Logan by himself - his warmth, the smell of his skin, the ruggedly handsome face she used to dream about kissing - nothing about him had dispelled the new feelings that had infected her of late.

_No one can help me, Logan...not even you..._ she thought before heading off in the direction he'd taken.

She didn't have far to follow, nearly stumbling over his crouched form, it had blended so perfectly into the darkness. Feeling awkward, she squatted down beside him and waited for him to acknowledge her presence - until she saw his gaze directed past the trees they were hunched behind. Trying to reclaim a sense of what she'd been enlisted to do, she mirrored him, squinting through the black rain to see what lay beyond.

Small, twinkling lights were visible in the distance, encircling a large, shadowed building. Jean's discomfort, her despondency, drained away at the sight of their objective, and she found herself wondering once again what secrets this secluded compound harboured, wondered what would prompt the Professor to make them play spy. The possibilities that swam to the surface of her mind were not particularly reassuring.

She glanced over at Logan.

"Now what?" she asked, professionalism at its best.

"We head in," he replied, voice holding no trace emotion, nothing tying him to the scene that had passed between them only a clearing away. He got to his feet and started off towards the installation at an easy lope without another word.

Jean swore under her breath at his version of an explanation and ran after him, focusing instead on how grateful she was that the area around the government building was free of the forest. Moving across the open grassland without having to worry about slipping, tripping, or getting snagged on something was a definite plus.

She caught up to Logan as he paused at the ten-foot high, barbed wire-topped chain link fence, and saw him nod towards her.

"Can you get us over?" he asked.

Jean snorted at the question, vaguely insulted, tempted for just a second to levitate herself over and leave him to fend for himself. Instead she quieted her mind and called up her teke from where it slumbered, feeling the familiar sense of power surge through her body, pulsing through her veins in time with her blood.

The power breathed over and through her, Jean felt it push outward and then retract, as if it were a muscle stretching after a long period of inactivity, felt it flow between her and Logan, surrounding them completely. Without effort, she formed a thought of bringing the two of them over the fence, and suddenly they were airborne, lifting from the ground in tandem, and just as quickly, were set on their feet on the opposite side of the barrier.

"To the wall," Logan breathed the second they landed, grabbing her arm and pulling her alongside him, the long line of their bodies touching with every second step.

They flattened themselves against the smooth concrete of the building, Logan's grip still tight on Jean's arm. He gave it a little tug and motioned for her to slide in his direction.

Jean needed no further urging, having already seen the small utility door set back within the wall, a dull red light above it shining wanly in the drizzle. She watched as Logan popped a single claw from the space between his knuckles, as he shoved that thin blade of adamantium into the keyhole and gave a sharp flick of his wrist. The lock gave a faint popping sound and the door opened at his touch.

Letting out a relieved breath that she hadn't been aware she was holding when no alarm went off, Jean moved in behind him and shut the door silently.

They found themselves in a sterile looking hallway - pale tiled floors, white walls, several doors on either side of the long corridor set at equally spaced intervals. The glare of the overhead lights made Jean blink until her eyes adjusted.

Not speaking, Logan led the way down the hall, making a turn at the first opportunity, looking back only once to make sure Jean was still trailing him. They walked in silence for many minutes, not encountering guards or surveillance cameras or anything that would indicate a form of security, leaving Jean to consider the possibility that they'd been sent out on a wild goose chase. She stared at the back of Logan's head, noting how the damp conditions had seemed to tame his thick, erratic hair into something softer, more touchable - not quite waves, but almost - and wondered if he was getting them lost within the maze of passageways.

After several more twists and turns, Jean was about to voice her theory when Logan halted, holding up a hand for silence as if anticipating her question. Jean froze, mouth open, hands held out stiffly at her side in surprise. Logan, eyes still looking ahead, crept forward soundlessly like a giant stalking cat, passing through one of the many open doorways that lead from one hallway to the next.

As he peered around the corner, Jean felt her heart begin racing beneath her skin, forcing its way up her throat, making her mouth go dry with fear. She watched, waited, for his claws to shoot forth from either hand, for him to leap into action any second...but nothing happened. Her caution only dissipated marginally when she saw Logan's tense stance relax, allowing him to turn and face her. She tried to appear nonchalant, standing up straight and meeting his gaze.

"Thought I heard something," Logan said, giving her the slightest of rueful smiles.

The smile reassured Jean enough to give him a tiny one in return, just before a huge metal door slid down from the top of the doorway between them, clanging home within a groove set into the floor, effectively separating them.

Jean stared at its polished surface dumbly for the space of a heartbeat - as if not sure of what she was seeing, before pressing her hands, her body, against it with a cry. She pushed at the metal futilely, slamming against it with her teke, trying to batter her way through to Logan who was trapped on the other side. Dimly, she heard the scraping of his claws as he tried to do the same thing.

It was no use. The metal was thick, solid, and wouldn't budge, not for her at least.

Jean felt tears of frustration begin to well in her eyes, and slumped, frightened, against the wall. Not knowing what else to do, she let a tendril of her mind snake out, easily bypassing the door and touching Logan's thoughts. Despite her anger and indecision towards him, being able to connect, albeit indirectly, pushed away the first stirrings of panic that threatened to overwhelm her.

_Logan! What's going on? What should we do?_ she projected into his head, not caring if he sensed her fear now. She wanted nothing more than to get out of this silent, empty tomb of a place - important mission or not.

Logan's calm washed over her frantic words, soothing her like warm water, his voice urging her to quiet. Jean dashed away the wetness that had started to cling to her lashes, waiting for his instructions.

_It's okay, Jeannie, it's okay. I'm only another hallway over._ His words breathed through her mind like a gentle caress, making her shiver.

When she didn't reply, he continued.

_Listen to me - I could slice through the door, but it's pretty thick, it'll take time we don't have._

As far as Jean could tell, they had all the time in the world, judging by the lack of response from whoever inhabited the base. But before she could argue with him on that fact, she felt a quiver of readiness, a sense of anticipation, filter through her link with Logan.

_What do you mean?_ she asked warily, not liking the sudden rush that swept through her, knowing that it was only a shadow of what Logan was currently feeling.

_I don't think I was mistaken when I heard something earlier - and I don't think this building is as empty as we thought it was. Unless I tripped some kind of movement sensor, I'm betting that whoever runs this place finally knows they've got company...and I don't think they're happy about it._

_Are you sure?_

_As sure as I can be, with what sounds like a couple hundred guys heading my way, yeah._

_What do you want me to do?_ Jean asked, feeling powerless and hating it.

_Get yourself outta here, back to the car._

_No! I can't leave you here like this! What if -_

_Don't push this, Red, just do as I say! I can take care of myself. I'll follow you as soon as I can._

_But Logan -_

It was no use. She was arguing with herself. Logan had severed the connection, leaving her sitting against the wall in the whitewashed corridor without any idea of how to help him. Getting out had been her main priority only a moment before, but not by herself - not without Logan.

Jean's hands wrapped around her waist as she began shivering, waves of repressed emotion starting to surge up from deep within, finally forcing her to admit to herself that she wasn't ready for this. She couldn't handle the fear, the uncertainty, the prospect of danger and violence - it was too reminiscent of another night not so distant, portending a similarly terrible outcome.

As if thinking such thoughts summoned him, Duncan's leering face suddenly appeared in her mind's eyes, laughing at her.

_...so easy to take...'weak' means anyone's meat...that's what you are ..._

She shook herself, forcing away the voice - the image - the sensations that streamed through her veins like diseased tadpoles tickling beneath her skin, and once again took control of her head, though her teeth ground together with the effort it took to do so. Flashbacks, memories, waking terrors; incapacitating by-products all, thanks to what she'd endured at the hands of her former boyfriend and the now all too frequent nightmares. And they _were_ coming more regularly, becoming increasingly real in Jean's mind, reducing her to the wretched state she was currently in.

_I'm not weak, not helpless, not going to give in..._ she told herself sternly. _If I can survive what that bastard did to me, I can deal with anything that's thrown at me tonight - and I can do it on my own_.

Girding her strength around her like armor, she pushed away from the wall, eyeing the wide metal door a final time before going back the way she'd come. She felt the flames of anger begin to kindle in her chest, wiping away the uncertain fear that gripped her, letting her feel more sure of herself.

She hurried around a corner.

_I'm not going to let these government assholes screw with me_, she swore, darting through another passage, picking up speed, not caring if her feet made noise anymore.

_And I'm not going to pull the same crap Logan did when our positions were reversed -_ _I'm not going to leave him to fight alone no matter what's happened between us, _she promised, lungs heaving as she pushed herself harder.

_I'm going to find him and then we'll get out of this place - **together**_.

She continued to run, around one corner then another, down long hallways, letting her telepathy trickle out like silken filaments, searching for a sign of Logan or his adversaries. She found nothing, and so kept moving, never faltering. She might not have stopped had she not rushed through an unfamiliar doorway that looked out over a vast room, the sight of it - and it contents - stealing her breath in shock.

_I guess I took a wrong turn..._ echoed unheeded inside her head as she gazed into the cavernous chamber, all thoughts of Logan's plight forgotten for the few seconds it took her brain to register what she was seeing.

From the outside, the building didn't look large enough to house a space as huge as the one she found herself in, but here it was - and filled up with things that made her green eyes stay wide and kept her mouth open slackly.

Towering hundreds of feet up from the floor below, were row upon row of vaguely man-like machines, the tops of their metal heads nearly touching the rafters of the ceiling. From her current position, Jean could literally reach out and touch the sightless face of the nearest machine, though her hand would be like a speck, the size of a flea, against the immensity of its size.

Finding the ability to breathe normally once again, Jean saw that she was standing on a catwalk that stretched around the entire room. A flight of stairs immediately to her left led down to the next level of the building, and then the next, and so on, until coming to an end at the floor where the feet of the giant machines rested.

She hesitated, torn between the desire to help her teammate, and the now raging curiosity that swept over her at discovering what the Professor had assuredly sent her and Logan to find. The moment of indecision made her waver, take a step backwards towards the door unconsciously - and that's when the closest metal being made the slightest movement.

Jean froze, wondering if she'd alerted it to her presence somehow, if it possessed some kind of sensory activation, when the thing's eyes flared to life, glowing with a new darkness, an intelligence they hadn't shown before. Entranced, Jean watched avidly, like one would an oncoming truck that was about to smash them into oblivion, unable to look away as the man-machine shuddered to wakefulness. One of the tanker-sized arms started to raise from its side, slowly, jerkily, as if it hadn't ever moved before, snapping Jean out of her 'deer caught in the headlights' impression.

_I think it's time I found Logan_, she told herself, not wanting to see what other abilities the metal man would undoubtedly begin to exhibit should she remain. She cautiously began backing away from the moving thing, hoping it wouldn't notice her as she passed back through the doorway. As soon as she crossed over the threshold into the hallway, she spun around and started running for all she was worth, the sterile passage seeming much longer than she'd remembered now that fear had once again taken hold of her.

She was almost to the first turn, when she heard a booming voice echo behind her.

"MUTANT TARGET IDENTIFIED. INITIATING."

She felt a whoosh of air push past her a second before something tangled around her legs, tripping her so suddenly that she didn't have time to catch herself as she fell. Her face smacked against the hard, tiled floor violently, starbursts exploding in her head upon contact, rendering her immobile as she was dragged back to the room with the now fully animated machine.

Jean looked up, still dizzy from the blow to her head, and saw that slender metal tentacles had coiled around her legs, trapping her from knee to ankle as tightly as a boa constrictor would its prey. She had no time to test the quality of the restraints, however, as she was dragged under the railing of the catwalk and over the edge.

The horrible sensation of free-falling made her stomach spasm and tore a scream from her throat - until, just as suddenly, her descent stopped, leaving her hanging in mid-air, held aloft by the bindings that encased her legs and connected to the giant machine's wrist.

She tried to look up at the barely humanoid face, to see what it was doing, but her movement only caused her to sway, making her stomach gurgle with nausea and a throbbing to flare in her head.

_As if this couldn't get any worse_, she thought, whimpering in pain.

Jean lashed out with her teke, hoping against hope that she'd be able to free her legs from their bonds and then lower herself to the floor below. If she could get loose from the monstrosity that held her, then all things were possible, even escape. Her mind tried to grip the edges of the coils, tried to force between the many loops, tried to push them down her legs, but to no avail. She continued to try until her head felt like it was going to split from the pain, and was forced to stop, hanging limply like a freshly caught fish.

Only one option was left open to her. Fighting past the thundering headache that stormed through her brain, Jean sent out a telepathic probe, searching for Logan a final, desperate time. As she combed the building for him, she shuddered involuntarily as she once again noticed how closely this night and all that it had held for her so closely mimicked a different evening she wished she could forget. She only prayed that this outcome would be something she'd be able to live with - if she managed to stay alive.

_Dammit, Logan, where the hell are you?_ She wondered exasperatedly when he was still nowhere to be found, the blood rushing from her toes to collect in her upper body now causing her lower extremities to begin tingling uncomfortably.

_I suppose he's keeping whoever watches out for these 'things' busy, or else they'd probably be here investigating as to why it's awake,_ Jean mused, once again trying to peer up at what was holding her_. I guess that's a good thing...sort of... _

Her movement set the room to spinning so she flopped back down in defeat, pressing her hands against her mouth as another wave of nausea washed over her.

The sudden booming of the machine's voice made Jean flinch.

"MUTANT TARGET APPREHENDED," it announced, the voice sounding hollow from up close.

Holding her breath, Jean waited for it to do or say something further. When it didn't, choosing instead to continue standing where it was and let her dangle, she fought the strange urge to laugh at it.

"I was _apprehended_ like, five minutes ago. You're just realizing this _now_?" she yelled at it, exasperation and discomfort taking control.

When the machine didn't reply, she did laugh, though at herself.

_What were you expecting, Jean? To have a conversation with it? It's just a robot - a big one, maybe, but ultimately nothing more than a bucket of _-

"COMMENCING TERMINATION" the machine thundered into the quiet, interrupting Jean's inner dialogue and eliciting a startled gasp.

"Termination?" The word came out from between stiff lips as Jean felt the pressure on her legs intensify, telling her that she was being pulled up.

The giant metal man was definitely moving again, and Jean watched as its head swivelled to stare at her, as the fingers of the hand that she hung from flexed experimentally, as its other arm started to rise in time with her ascent. She could hear all sorts of strange sounds coming from beneath its moulded exterior, like someone had suddenly thrown a switch and brought the creature to full awareness.

Having no desire to see how the machine planned to kill her, Jean called on what was left of her strength, and marshalled her telekinesis into something she could use to her advantage. Rather than trying to free herself, she attacked the thing itself, focusing on its eyes first, ignoring the swell of agony that thrummed through her brain with her efforts. Her gaze narrowed as she aimed, her arm motioning uselessly at her side as she directed the flow of power into the first eye socket. She struck, smashing through the shiny plastic casing instantly.

The machine jerked as if it felt the blow, the coils holding Jean trembling ever so slightly.

Infused with a triumphant rush of adrenaline, Jean smashed through the other eye, hoping she'd rendered the thing blind as bits of machinery rained down over her from above.

The robot's head continued to shake. It was seemingly distracted enough to have forgotten Jean for the moment.

Not wanting to waste the small amount of time she'd gained, Jean looked up to where the metal tendrils that held her legs connected to the giant wrist, saw that the inside of the arm's casing was a series of huge bolts and rods, wires and tubes. Systematically, she began dismantling as much of the inner arm as she could, knowing that if she got in far enough, caused enough damage, she'd get herself free.

More bits and pieces cascaded around her hanging form as she dug into the constructed flesh of the creature with her determined mind, the pain of using her powers screaming from beneath her more insistent will to escape.

_I'm doing it!_ she thought fiercely when one of the metal snakes unravelled from her leg to tumble to the floor below, pushing her to renew her efforts on the remaining coils, keeping her from noticing the other metal arm still coming towards her.

The fire of triumph was thick in her veins, banishing the chill threads of fear that had claimed her earlier, when the laser canon protruding from the machine's opposite arm loomed into view. The barrel of the firing end was large enough that she could have crawled inside and stretched out full length and still not covered it's entirety. It brought with it the sure promise of death, quieting before killing the fire inside Jean, allowing her panic to return and break her connection to her power.

She stared at the black hole that would bring the end of her world in a matter of moments, and despair dragged her determination under its gray waters. Detached, numb, she absently wondered what colour the light of the laser would be.

The first glow of red reflected from deep within the canon's base, and Jean prepared herself for the heat that would wash over her a second later...a heat that never came.

Instead, the glow died as the man machine started convulsing, jerking sharply to one side and swinging her with it. The once forgotten sickness welled up in her again, a warm sensation tickling the back of her throat as she tried to keep the contents of her stomach where they were. She might have succeeded if the arm she hung from didn't choose that exact moment to flail about wildly, snapping her up so that her nose nearly touched the ceiling, and then letting her fall back down to swing crazily.

It was no use. Jean threw up, tears forming in her eyes and trailing over her forehead as the few bites of food she'd managed to eat earlier heaved past her lips to the ground so far below. As soon as the spasms in her stomach stopped, the headache took on a new life, pressing against the bone of her skull as if it too, wanted to push its way out.

The robot was now shaking like broken washing machine, the vibrations from its body filtering down the tendrils of metal that held Jean's legs and making her teeth knock together. So wracked by pain, she wondered if it wouldn't have been better if the damn thing hadn't just fried her and been done with it. She felt the coils that gripped her suddenly give a little, letting her slide through them until just her ankles were trapped, and still the creature shook; bolts, screws, and small metal plates beginning to fall from its body.

_Oh god - it's going to drop me!_ The knowledge screamed through Jean's head as she frantically tried to gauge whether she had enough strength left to catch herself if that happened. Before she could determine that ever so important fact, the tentacles released her, and she fell. Another cry was torn from her throat as she dropped, as she desperately fumbled through the agony in her head to keep herself aloft or at least slow her rate of descent, when someone caught her before she could fall any further.

Instantly, a thought of _**Logan!**_ shot through her, accompanied by the flood of relief at realizing she wasn't going to end up broken and bloody in her own vomit on the floor below, when the impossibility of that thought became apparent.

She'd been plucked out of midair and was still hanging a good thirty feet above the floor; as impressive as Logan's skills were, he couldn't defy gravity.

She glanced up at the person who'd saved her -

And found her wide-eyed gaze returned by the cold, blue stare of Magneto.

* * *

Logan leaped with incredible agility over the last pair of soldiers, spinning around to impale both of them on his already gore-splattered claws, watching them drop to the ground with little satisfaction seconds later. As blood pooled around his feet, running thickly from the two twitching bodies, Logan peered around, searching for more enemies to slice and dice. 

He looked over the battlefield that the passageways had become, noted the heaps of dead soldiers that lay strewn the length of the corridor he was currently in, and failed to detect any kind of movement that would indicate another adversary. His disappointment was fleeting amidst the flares of primal rage, the heated lust for blood that had consumed him at the start of the fighting, and he quickly continued in the opposite direction he'd come from. His concern for Jean, his need to find her and make sure she was safe, overtook him as surely as his animal side did, quenching his desires of conquest for the moment.

Logan's sharp sense of smell preceded his rapid movement, and, after a mad dash down another brightly lit hallway, he paused when the scent of more people reached his nostrils.

People...and gun oil.

An open doorway just ahead pointed the way to his next foes.

Logan didn't hesitate - he burst into the room, claws bared, an incoherent cry ripped from his throat, his vision tinged with red.

Three startled faces turned to greet his arrival, pale moons in the semi-darkness of what seemed to be a monitoring room of some kind, before Logan's blades took the nearest one in the belly. The man's scream was shrill as the claws sliced upwards and then pulled out, only to trail off in a wet gurgle as his intestines spilled out afterwards. He pitched over, drenched with crimson, his hands vainly trying to stuff his insides back into the open flesh.

One of the two remaining soldiers had managed to pull his sidearm from his holster, training it on Logan's still advancing form. He knocked off a shot, but in his haste the bullet went wide into the wall, and Logan avoided it easily. Reddened claws tore out the shooter's throat before he had a chance to fire again.

The last soldier had pressed back against the wall during the commotion, his hands were spread out at either side, his weapon already laying at his feet where he'd dropped it. His eyes, showing more white than the brown of his irises, were fixed on his fallen comrades, proclaiming his terror. He then looked up to Logan and seemed to realize that death approached. His mouth moved soundlessly while his body shook, before he let himself slide down to his knees, his legs no longer able to support him.

"P-please...please don't kill me," the soldier begged as Logan's clenched fist dropped on level with his terrified face. The drops of blood that dripped from the pointed ends of Logan's claws seemed to entrance the man, and he watched as the dark liquid fell, soaking into the shirt of the most recently killed soldier.

Logan regarded the crouched man with narrowed eyes, his whole being trembling with need to finish him, but he managed to keep the urge under control as he looked his quarry over.

_He might be useful - could lead you to what you've been sent find_... said the quiet voice in Logan's head, prompting him to retract the blades of one hand back into his skin. That same hand then reached down to grasp the frightened man's collar, yanking him to his feet.

"You know what I'm looking for," Logan bluffed menacingly. "Tell me where it is, and maybe you won't end up like yer buddies."

The black-uniformed man nodded vigorously, wide eyes pleading, hopeful. "Sure - sure! Anything you want," he babbled, rushing over to the computer terminals that the room housed as soon as Logan released him.

Logan looked over the man's shoulder, wondering what he'd killed to find, what so many men had died trying to protect.

As the other man's fingers raced over the numerous keys and buttons that jutted out from the huge console, several monitors flared to life, showing different parts of the installation on each screen. Hallways, a cafeteria, a dormitory, a guard post outside; all flickered and faded, only to be replaced by other images, until each screen shone with the picture of what appeared to be the same room, but at different angles.

Logan became very still when he saw what the computer monitors reflected back at him, not even daring to breathe.

Machines - robots. Too many to count.

_Fucking huge, too..._ Logan thought, no sign of surprise betrayed by his face. _When yer right, Charlie, yer right...this looks ugly even from where I'm standing_.

"Tell me how to get up close and personal with yer friends," Logan said, knowing he needed to see more before he could leave.

"There's a d-door at the end of this ha-hallway that'll take you to a stairwell. Go down to t-the bottom and follow the first c-corridor. It'll lead you t-to the holding r-room," was the guard's stuttered reply, his eyelids fluttering nervously.

Logan nodded, about to begin his trek down to the sub-levels of the compound, when a large red light began blinking on the console. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What the hell is that?" he ground out, pointing at the beacon with a crimson claw.

The man looked over his shoulder in confusion to see what Logan was gesturing to. Seeing the light flashing, he gasped, fingers once again racing over the keyboard.

"Something's woken up Prototype Alpha-15," the guard reported, gazing up at the nearest monitor.

"Something?" Logan questioned, a feeling akin to trepidation stealing over him as he watched the robot on the screen begin to move.

The other man shook his head, seeming to have forgotten his immediate danger in favour of confusion. "Or someone," he clarified, flipping from one camera angle to the next in an attempt to get a clear image of what was occurring in the room so many floors beneath them.

Two more clicks of the camera, and Logan felt his heart stop at the image he was presented with. A familiar figure, lithe body clothed all in black and green, backing away from the shuddering machine, disappearing through a doorway, red hair trailing behind her.

_Jean!_

_What the hell is she doing? How'd she get down there?_

His head reeled as it swarmed with questions, but he had no time to wonder what she was still doing in the base. As he continued to watch the screens, he saw something shoot from the robot's arm into the doorway she'd backed into.

_**NO! JEAN!**_ His inner voice cried again at witnessing the attack, not knowing what the machine's assault was capable of doing to her.

He was rewarded a second later when he saw her dragged back on screen, struggling, showing that she was still alive. He'd seen enough.

Logan's hand shot out faster than the soldier could have anticipated, taking him around the throat, his grip nearly crushing the man's windpipe.

"Whatever that fucking thing is doing, stop it. _Now,_" he demanded, voice coming out in a feral growl.

The other man's eyes rolled with fear. "I - I can't! I don't know how to override their pro-programming!" The soldier's words were forced out amidst gasps of pain, both of his hands clutching at Logan's in a vain attempt to stop it from tightening on his neck when his ignorance was admitted. "You - you _killed _the only person h-here who knew how to do that!" The soldier released Logan's hand long enough to point down to the eviscerated body on the floor.

Logan didn't look. Rage was upon him again, and all he could see was a blurred world of red.

With a savage cry, he threw the guard against the far wall, not even waiting to see the man slump to the ground, unconscious, before running from the room, heading to the first door that would lead him to Jean.

_I'm coming, Jeannie...I'm coming... _echoed repeatedly through his mind as he entered the stairwell, claws bared again, heart throbbing against his rib cage.

_Not gonna let anything happen to you...not gonna let you down..._

_Not **this** time!  
_

* * *

Jean stared. 

At one of the most feared men in the world.

At the X-Men's greatest enemy.

At the man who'd saved her life.

Magneto didn't say anything as he met her gaze, the blue of his eyes the same icy paleness of a cloudless winter sky - and equally as cold. He looked away a moment later, turning his attention back to the machine that still shuddered alarmingly nearby. Without a word, he began dismantling the thing that had tried to kill her, ripping it apart with his control over all things metal.

He did it almost nonchalantly, without seeming to exert much effort, not even having to gesture to do what he willed. Despite her fear of the man, Jean had to admit that she was suitably impressed by his control, his strength, as the robot was quickly reduced to a heap of twisted scrap metal - awed when nothing of the creature remained but a pile of smouldering circuits and sparking electrical cords. The display was nothing short of incredible.

Magneto, his task complete, turned his gaze back to the girl he held, face still revealing nothing.

Jean swallowed nervously, tasting the acrid sting of bile in the back of her throat, feeling the remnants of tears drying against her skin when she blinked.

She wondered if she looked as pathetic as she felt.

Air breathed up around her softly as Magneto lowered both of them to the ground, his muscled arms firm yet gentle as he continued to cradle her against his chest. When his feet touched the ground, far from the broken machine, he let her slide from his grip, watching her.

Jean was surprised her legs could hold her after being denied proper circulation for what had felt like forever, but they did, albeit shakily. She put her hand against the wall to help steady herself. Secure on her own two feet, she allowed herself to look to the man who stood before her.

"Why did you help me?" she asked when she could speak, her curiosity overriding her gratitude.

One of Magneto's silver eyebrows arched from beneath the red helmet he usually wore, as if he'd taken note of her bad manners, as if she amused him.

Jean still possessed the grace to flush with embarrassment at his look, but was careful in keeping her face neutral.

Magneto curled his lips in a mocking smile that matched the quirked eyebrow. "Would you have rather I left your fate at the hands of the Sentinel?"

Jean shook her head slowly, confused by the latest turn her evening had taken.

"Sentinel?" Her head tilted with the question before turning back to the ruined creature. She appraised it silently for a moment, seeming to replay the entire scene of her capture in her mind as she did so. "It...it identified me as a - as a mutant. It tried to kill me," she whispered finally, horrified as she realized how close it had come to succeeding. Jean felt the blood drain from her face anew, leaving it paler than bleached linen.

"You sound surprised," Magneto replied, eyes narrowing as he watched her.

Jean's looked up to his face, incredulous.

"A mutant-hating robot just tried to vaporise me. It's not exactly something that happens everyday," she ground out, emotions still running high. "Do you even know the meaning of the word _understatement_?".

Magneto didn't respond, his gaze seeming to weigh her reaction, arms crossing before his chest. A moment later, he sighed. "Then I suppose I am the one who is surprised, child. I would have expected your..._mentor..._to have better prepared you for this." His hand swept around, encompassing the remaining rows of robots.

Jean's fingers went up to massage her temple, her headache becoming unbearable. She could feel her ire increasing alongside the pain. She was running out of patience.

"What are you talking about? How could the Professor have possibly known about something like this - let alone prepare me or the others for the reality of it? If he had any notion of the danger, you can rest assured that he wouldn't have sent me out here in the middle of the night, risking my life to investigate what he believes is nothing more than a rumour floating around Washington," she replied testily, glaring at him. "And don't call me _child_. I haven't been one of those for a very long time."

As her fingertips pinched between her eyebrows, trying to alleviate the throbbing in her head, she missed the slight smirk that briefly flit across Magneto's lips. When her eyes re-opened, his face was once again set in stone.

"As you like..._Jean,_" he murmured, nodding towards her.

Jean wasn't sure his using her name familiarly was much of an improvement, but she remained quiet as he continued.

"I merely meant that since the Sentinels have been Xavier's pet project for the last decade or so, that he would have told you about them."

The words slipped out of his mouth so casually, so smoothly, that Jean nearly laughed in his face before she caught herself.

_Mutant killing machines were the **Professor's** idea? Yeah, sure, and he's the Toothfairy on weekends, too... _Jean's inner voice said sarcastically.

The man was obviously lying or delusional - or both.

Both was Jean's bet.

Her lips twisted with the effort to keep her amusement contained, but her eyes radiated the disbelief that had instantly sprung to the surface of her mind at his explanation.

Magneto shook his head, his smile seeming to say that her reaction was what he expected. "Of course you wouldn't believe me, the enemy of the man you trust, a man you see as a father." He sounded amused again, before his face hardened, his smile like ice. "And why would you? I only saved your life - from the monstrosity that he helped create."

Jean let out a long suffering breath. She really didn't feel like debating with a lunatic at that moment, but he did have one point: He _had_ helped her.

"Look..._Magneto_..." She hesitated at saying his name out loud, it felt strange on her tongue. "I'm grateful you came along when you did - believe me, I am, but you're trying to tell me that the Professor has been instrumental in the program that developed the thing that nearly did me in. You've been against him and everything he stands for since day one. Would you trust me or anything that I said if our positions were reversed?" she asked.

Magneto stayed silent for a moment, still smiling, albeit a little sadly.

"No Jean, I don't believe I would," he agreed, his booted feet raising from the floor several inches.

Jean breathed an internal sigh of relief. He was leaving. She could finally go look for Logan and get the hell out of there.

"Regrettably I must be on my way, however much I would like to continue this conversation - though I do have one final question for you, Jean."

"What?" she asked, not caring if she sounded rude. Enough was enough, already.

Magneto's head cocked to one side as he considered the young girl standing before him.

"Such talk of not trusting blindly, and yet you place implicit trust in your precious Xavier. But do you know him as well as you think you do?" His voice was free of the smug confidence - the oily slyness - Jean would have expected to accompany such a query. Instead, he sounded genuinely curious - honest, even, and it made the young telepath hesitate before speaking, the unexpected tone catching her interest. He saw that she was attentive and used the opportunity to continue. "There is another side to your Xavier - a secretive side - hiding the man who does what he thinks is best regardless of what others may believe...the man who was once my dearest friend."

Jean's eyes widened at the last. "Dearest _friend_?" she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Magneto nodded in cold satisfaction. "Yes, Jean, we were friends - closer than brothers once, but I can see by the look on you face that he has yet to mention that particular point." His lips curled into a bitter half-smile.

Jean was about to reply when a sound from behind caught her attention. Before she could turn to see what or who it was, a ragged cry split the echoing quiet of the chamber, and a figure bounded out of the shadows.

"Logan!" Jean cried at seeing his familiar form, wincing as a streak of pain jolted inside her head.

_Dammit all_, she thought miserably. _If these two start in on each other, we'll be here all night!_

Logan didn't pause for pleasantries or explanations, he just leapt at Magneto, claws unsheathed, screaming his rage at the person he now saw as the threat to Jean's safety.

Jean called for him to stop, even going so far as to test her powers against his rapid assault, but she was still too weak. The attempt left her feeling faint, and she would have fallen if she hadn't caught herself against the wall. She could only stand and watch the beginnings of what would surely be a lengthy, terrible battle.

But Magneto didn't seem too interested in the idea of a fight either. He flicked his hand, almost contemptuously, in Logan's direction, stopping the other's furious advance in mid-air.

Jean's breath stilled in her throat.

Aside from watching the violet-cloaked mutant take the Sentinel apart minutes earlier, she'd never actually seen him use his powers - especially against one of the X-Men. That he'd been able to halt Wolverine so effortlessly left her shocked, impressed, and frightened all at the same time. She watched as Logan strained against the waves of magnetic energy that held him - or rather his adamantium skeleton - immobile, heard his voice as little more than a series of growls.

Magneto actually looked past the trapped mutant, seeming to disregard him at a glance, to catch Jean's wide eyes. She stared back at him, not knowing what else to do.

"Ask yourself how well you truly know the man you trust with your life, Jean - or the man you think you know. When you're ready to learn the truth, I can help you find it." The new mirth that lit up his sky blue eyes at Logan's predicament seemed to belie the seriousness of his tone.

Jean blinked at him, wondering if he was waiting for her to nod or something.

He seemed to take her silence for understanding, though, and raised another several feet higher into the air, safely past the point where Logan and his angry claws could still get to him. And then, like some bizarre magician, he waved his hand again and Logan was free.

The smaller mutant tumbled to the cement floor with the suddenness of the release, startling Jean in turn. Logan was on his feet before she could take a step towards him, his head whipping up to gauge the distance of his enemy, but he was too late. The Master of Magnetism had already taken flight, disappearing into the vaulted ceiling's shadows.

When it looked as if Logan was going to take off in pursuit of the other man, Jean decided that she'd had more than enough.

"Logan..._LOGAN_!" she called, trying to get his attention.

He whirled around, his face full of anger.

"Can we _please_ go home now?" The request came out as little more than a whisper, and Jean could feel a tightness scratching at her throat, a heat building behind her eyes. She knew that if she so much as blinked again, she'd be back to crying. Only this time, being so emotionally drained, so wracked with pain, it would take nothing short of unconsciousness to get her to stop. It was not a heartening thought.

She watched as the mask of fury bled away from Logan's face at her words, as they brought him back to the present, leaving him staring at her, hands hanging uselessly at his sides, naked anguish written across his features. He had to take a deep breath and swallow once before he could respond to her request.

"Yeah, Jeannie...we can go home."

* * *

The drive back to the mansion was as silent as the journey to the installation had been, the muffled, rhythmic 'thwump...thwump...thwump' of the car's wipers serving as the only interruption. The rain had slackened until it was nothing more than a fitful drizzle misting from the dark clouds overhead. 

Logan peered through the windshield at the road ahead, trying to keep his mind on driving. It was no easy task, as feelings of impotence, inadequacy, and anger still thrummed through his body. He still couldn't believe he'd failed at protecting Jean - _again_ - and that _Magneto_ of all people had stepped up in his place.

The shame, the seething fury associated with that part of his night was simply too much to bear.

As the miles sped by, as the quiet deepened, as Logan's brain tried to pinpoint the exact moment he'd become so completely useless, Jean cleared her throat and half-turned to face him.

"Logan...how long have you know the Professor?" she asked hesitantly, as if reluctant to speak.

Surprised she felt like conversation after the evening they'd just had - to say nothing of her choice of topic, Logan shot her a quizzical look. "I don't know," he said softly, taking a moment to think. "Maybe ten years or so. Why?"

He couldn't see her shake her head in the shadowed confines of the car, but heard the rustle of her drying clothing as she did so.

"It doesn't matter. It's...nothing," she replied.

Thinking that Jean speaking to him about anything was better than existing in silence, Logan persisted. "If something's on yer mind, Jeannie, just get it out. What do you want to know?"

He heard her sigh, shift in her seat, and then her intake of breath.

"Do you...do you think that it could be at all possible that the Professor..." She paused as if seeking the right words.

"What?" Logan prompted.

"Could the Professor have been involved with those machines back at the base?" Jean's voice spilled out in a rush, her fingers twisting in her lap, white against the darkness.

At first Logan didn't understand what she was asking, his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the question.

"Involved? What do you mean?"

She didn't respond, just continued to stare resolutely ahead as if wishing she'd kept quiet, watching as the black asphalt of the road disappeared beneath the SUV's distance-hungry tires.

And then something clicked in Logan's head as he mulled her words over to himself, something Magneto had said to Jean before taking off. He hadn't given it much thought originally, too furious at being bested by a man he loathed had taken up all his brain space. But now...

_Ask yourself how well you truly know the man you trust with your life, Jean, or the man you think you know. When you're ready to learn the truth, I can help you find it..._

Realization dawned on Logan as he replayed what he'd heard in his mind, and was quickly replaced by disbelief.

"Jean, what did he say to you before I got t' that room?" he demanded, shocked that she'd take anything that madman had said to heart, no matter how insignificant it may have been.

"He told me that the Professor had been involved with the Sentinel project from the start," she murmured, as if embarrassed by saying something so negative about the man who had done so much for her.

"And what? You _believed_ him?" Logan shot back, eyes wide at the prospect.

Jean jumped at his harsh tone and her fingers went up to her head, massaging. The aspirin she'd taken from the first aid kit in the trunk still hadn't kicked in yet. She turned an indignant face to him. "Of course not! How could you even think such a thing?" she countered defensively, arms going to cross her chest.

Quiet descended again for a few seconds until Logan heard her mutter, "It just seemed like an odd thing for him to lie about."

"The guy's a raving _nutcase! _Who _knows_ where he gets all those crazy ideas he's always goin' on about! Do _you_ think the Professor is the kind of person who'd be involved with a program that makes giant mutant-hunting machines?" Logan argued.

"No," Jean admitted, suitably chastised.

"Good!" Logan nodded, still flabbergasted that she'd listened to anything Magneto would say, let alone dwell on it.

_It's not her fault_, he reasoned with himself. _She's been through so much in such a short period of time that she's bound to get mixed up, confused. Whatever emotional state she's been put in has left her vulnerable - open to suggestion, that's all..._

He glanced over at her, concerned as he took in her slender arms hugging her body tightly, a pose she'd only adopted recently. He couldn't help but hate it - it was body language at it's loudest, reminding him that parts of her were still broken inside, and that it was his fault.

_Yeah, she's been hurt badly, and that can change even the steadiest of people_...

Logan frowned as he looked away.

_There just couldn't be any other reason Jean would listen to Magneto...could there?_

As his thoughts occupied his mind, quiet reigned.

Rain pattered with increasing force on the roof of the car.

The miles rushed by.

"You know," Logan said softly, his concerns finally getting the better of him. "Xavier might be waiting for us when we get in. Maybe it's time for you talk to him about the..._stuff_...that's been going on."

Jean looked over at him sharply, his words breaking her out the daze the rocking motion of the car had lulled her into, her eyes bright with a strange mixture of heat and fright.

"What do you mean - _stuff_?" she asked, sharp tone unable to mask the hint of panic underneath.

Logan let out a slow breath. "You know, what happened tonight with the Sentinel, your little chat with Bucket Head..." He steeled himself, knowing that she wasn't going to like what he had to say next.

"...last week's dance - "

"_NO_!" she shouted, cutting him off before he could say anything further.

"Jeannie - " Logan tried again.

"He doesn't need to know about _anything_! Do you understand me? No one does!" She leaned closer, as if using her movement to punctuate her vehement words. "If you hadn't been indirectly involved with - with what happened, I wouldn't have told _you_ either!" she added forcefully.

Logan shook his head in disagreement. "Jean, keeping something like this from the rest of the team is one thing, but there shouldn't be any secrets between you and Xavier."

"It's _my _secret to keep, Logan! _My_ body, _my_ pain, _**my**_ decision!" she yelled, open palm slapping the plastic console between them loudly.

His lips parted to argue further when she cut him off again.

"Besides, the Professor isn't someone who should care about secrets, is he?" she quipped sarcastically.

Logan formed an angry reply, but Jean continued without pause.

"He didn't bother to tell me or the other students that Mystique was, in fact, our Principal - and now I hear, from the most unlikely source, that he and Magneto were once the best of friends. What else hasn't he told us that might be helpful to know, hmm? And you think I should just open up the floodgates and pour out my innermost thoughts when I haven't even begun dealing with them _myself_? To try and say the words I can't even _think_ let alone form with my mouth? Talk to him about feelings I can't _begin_ to define? To _hell _with that, Logan - it's not happening," she swore, the smell of her anger overpowering all of her other scents, making Logan's sensitive nose twitch.

She gave him an icy look after she'd taken a breath. "And just so we don't have any _misunderstandings_, remember your promise to me, Logan. You swore you'd never tell anyone about what happened. I'm trusting you to keep your word."

Logan shook his head in exasperation, hurting to hear the fear in her voice, but managed to mutter an affirmative.

When she'd come to him after arriving home from the Brotherhood house the morning after her ordeal, she'd only asked one thing of him: to keep her secret. He would have promised her anything, obeyed any request she might have made - whatever it took to try and make reparation for what had happened, to make her smile again. But all she'd wanted was his vow of silence, an oath to never mention what he knew to anyone unless she said otherwise.

He'd agreed without hesitation.

But how binding was his word if it meant he was protecting her by breaking it? Or protecting the team? Was it worse to hold his tongue, if by doing so brought greater harm - or loosing it and hurting Jeannie, even though it might help her in the process? What reasons could be considered worthy? Was letting Magneto fill her head with doubts and suspicions cause enough to worry about her mental state - or was he just overzealously concerned?

His mind flew over such thoughts as he turned the SUV onto the road that meandered through the heart of Bayville, and would ultimately bring them home.

* * *

The door to the mansion opened soundlessly as Jean pushed it inward, stepping across the threshold to escape the rain and dampness without. Once inside, the warmth of the house enveloped her reassuringly, like an old friend welcoming her back. She kicked off the black boots she wore with her uniform, toes scrunching in the soft carpeting as she sighed, before shivering as a blast of cold air swept past her as Logan entered the foyer, shutting the door behind him. 

Barefoot and without a backward glance, she padded towards the stairs, a hot bath the only thing on her mind - when she heard a voice calling from deeper within the house.

"Logan, Jean! Finally you're back, and safely at that," Xavier said, obviously relieved, his wheelchair rolling into view at the end of the hallway. His eyes swung between her and Logan curiously. "Did everything go well?" he asked, fingers making a steeple beneath his chin as he appraised them.

"Yeah, Chuck. Peachy," Logan muttered just as Jean said "Absolutely, Professor."

"Why don't you both come into my study and give me a full report? After you get changed into something more comfortable, of course," he said, amending his invitation at seeing Jean's longing look dart towards the stairs.

"I won't be long, Professor," she said wearily, gratefully, having imagined sinking into a steaming hot tub since escaping the government base and all during the drive home. Not only would it chase away the rainy chill that had seemingly settled in her bones, but she was covered in splatters of mud from her journey through the forest. She couldn't relax until she was clean, warm, and dry - in that exact order.

"Don't worry, Jeannie. Go up and have yer bath, I'll keep the Professor company until yer done," Logan said as he pulled off his own boots and tossed his leather jacket to the floor.

She caught his eyes when he looked up at her, her gaze piercing and insistent. One quiet thought was sent to echo through his head.

_Remember...remember what you promised me..._

As he nodded to her telepathic message, eyes downcast, Xavier waved for Logan to follow him.

Jean continued up the stairs, leaving the two men below.

"I'm sure you have a lot to tell me, Logan," the slender man was saying as he wheeled himself towards the brightly lit study.

Logan, with one final look at Jean's retreating figure, shook his head, torn.

"You have no idea, Chuck."

* * *

Jean let her head fall back against the porcelain rim of the bathtub, eyes closed, the calming scent of sweet sandalwood rising from the water with the steam. Experimentally, she stretched her legs, sighing when she felt her taut muscles loosen, the heated liquid and fragrant oil helping to ease away the tension in her battered body. 

Her headache had even begun to dissipate - aside from a slight tingling sensation that had just started.

_It's just the aspirin working - finally..._

She sunk low in the water, up to her chin, and stared sleepily at her unpolished toenails as they peeked out at her from the other end of the tub. Studying the pinkness of the flesh that surrounded them, Jean pondered what Magneto had said to her at the government base for yet another time. Her brows drew together in irritation as she thought.

It was maddening. How could she be entertaining _anything_ that man had said to her, let alone allowing his words to cast doubt on the Professor? So what if they had been friends before - the Professor was entitled to his own life, his own problems, his own past...wasn't he? What he'd done prior to assembling the X-Men wasn't any of her business, just as she was free to keep her own counsel on certain issues. Sure, knowing about his prior relationship with Magneto might have helped her and the others understand the animosity between them, but what else would it have accomplished?

_Nothing... _she told herself resolutely, splashing her face.

Her motions halted for a moment as her mind sorted through her thoughts.

_Why **was** there animosity_? She wondered as slender fingers wiped rivulets of aromatic water from her eyes. _Was it because they shared different opinions about mutants? About how to best use their powers? Or was it because of something else entirely?_

She reached past her knees to pull the plug and watched as the water began swirling down the drain.

_Is that why the Professor assembled all of us?_ Her mind asked unbidden, the question making her blink. _Not to train us so that we could live with humans in peaceful coexistence, not to better the world...but to use us to help settle the score with his former friend? To serve as pawns in his plan for revenge?_

She bit her lip as she reasoned the facts out a little further.

_If any of that is possible...then chances are he could have helped create the Sentinels...but for what purpose?_

Jean took a deep breath before climbing out of the now half-empty bath, grabbing for a large, white towel without seeing it. Her eyes scrunched closed as she tried to banish such treasonous, unworthy thoughts from her head.

_All Magneto has to do is open his mouth, and I fall for his garbage like the worst kind of idiot... _she scolded herself roundly, rubbing the soft fabric of the towel along the length of her body viciously. _The Professor is one of the few people I genuinely respect and admire - I love him as much as do my own parents. I owe him my faith and trust regardless of what I may hear, **especially** considering the source... _

Wiping the steam-clouded mirror with the end of her towel, she stared at her reflection sternly when she could see it.

"No more crazy thoughts, no more analyzing the man you've known nearly half your life. He's never done anything even remotely circumspect before, never caused you to question his actions. He deserves better than this," she murmured to the girl staring back at her from the polished surface.

As she slipped her nightshirt over her still damp hair, she realized that her headache was totally gone - warm tingle and all.

* * *

Logan was leaning against the Professor's large mahogany desk, watching the flames that crackled fitfully in the fireplace, a glass of whiskey in hand, when Jean opened the door. He looked up as she entered the room, his eyes guarded. Before he could say anything to her, Xavier motioned her over to where he was sitting. 

She walked over to the overstuffed chair that was opposite her mentor and sat down gingerly as if stiff, tucking her bare legs under her body a second later.

Logan watched Xavier as the other man regarded the newest arrival, raising his glass to his lips and taking another mouthful of the liquor. The liquid traced a burning path down his throat, but he paid it no mind. His heart was pumping too furiously within his chest for him to notice anything else.

The Professor favoured Jean with a concerned look before speaking.

"Logan tells me you've had quite an adventure this evening, Jean. Are you alright?" His cultured voice floated about the room.

Jean ran a distracted hand through the damp tendrils of her hair, eyes downcast. "Yeah, it was...pretty intense, to say the least. But I'm fine," she replied.

Xavier nodded slowly, as if not quite satisfied, and then glanced over to Logan as if asking a question without words.

Logan let out a quiet breath and let his head fall forward, unable to keep his eyes from skipping away from the Professor to stare at the carpeted floor.

"Jean," Xavier spoke again, hesitantly, turning back to her. "You're among friends, now. You can tell us the truth."

Jean bit at the end of one of her fingernails distractedly. She flashed Logan an anxious look, one that he couldn't meet, before starting to speak - recounting how she and Logan arrived at the base, how they became separated, her meeting with the Sentinel, and Magneto's timely interference. All during her report, Logan noticed how she refused to return Xavier's steady stare.

Xavier waited for her to finish before taking a sip from the cup of coffee that rested behind him on the desk, using the minutes he took to drink to seemingly absorb the information that had been presented, but Logan knew otherwise.

The Professor was just searching for the most delicate way to proceed with the next round.

During the uncomfortable silence that endured during this time, Logan allowed his gaze to wander over Jean, distancing himself from what was transpiring.

He wasn't surprised that she was as beautiful as ever, even in the recently dimmed lights of the study - the soft, smoky glow radiating from the massive hearth, and a faraway lamp now served as the only illumination in the library-like room. The play of firelight was reflected in her eyes as she continued to stare at the floor, it caught in her water-darkened hair so that it shimmered, blood red and alive, it warmed her cream-coloured skin to a velvety, honeyed amber. Over the faint smell of wood smoke, his nose was assailed with the sweet, heady fragrance of whatever oil she used in her bath, urging a swell of heat to slowly begin pumping through his veins.

He had to fight to make the quivering breath that escaped his lips as he inhaled her in sound like a tired sigh. Thankfully, neither of the room's other occupants seemed to notice his strange gasping.

"Jean," Xavier finally began, voice sounding tortured. "There's no easy way for me to say this, but skirting the issue isn't going to lessen the difficulty in bringing it up, nor is it fair to you."

His eyes managed to capture Jean's, and, after he set his mug back on the desk, one of his hands reached out and covered one of hers. Logan winced internally as he saw her flinch from the contact, watched as the Professor drew away slightly without changing expression. But what really made Logan worry wasn't that Jean didn't seem to be amenable to Xavier's fatherly overtures, but the strange, fixed mask her face had become at his statement.

"You mean my little chat with Magneto," Jean supplied suddenly, tone higher than usual in her nervousness, fingers smoothing over her robe where it pooled in her lap.

Logan felt a hot flush crawl up his neck as the young telepath favoured him with a blank stare and rigid smile before she turned her attention back to the Professor.

"It's really nothing to worry about, Professor," she insisted, twisting the fabric with hands that had gone white at the knuckles. "The lies that man concocts and tries to pass off as the truth are comical." She gave a weak laugh that trailed off into silence as she read the look in the eyes of the man before her.

"Logan shouldn't have bothered telling you about that, it's not important," she murmured a second later.

Xavier sighed, head dipping forward a fraction, a hand going up to smooth over the hairlessness of his scalp. And then he was collected again, facing his charge with a seriousness that seemed to take away from the concern he was exhibiting.

"It must have been important in some way, or you wouldn't be struggling with the inner turmoil that I've been able to sense since you returned home. You wouldn't be doubting yourself - or me," he challenged.

Jean's fidgeting stopped, the robe falling from her nerveless fingers. "W-what do you mean?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, blood draining from her face in shock. "How would you know what I've been..." Her words died mid-sentence, her eyes widening in incredulous disbelief as she realized what Xavier was alluding to. It took a moment, her lips struggling to move past the numbness that seemed to have taken over.

"You know because you...you went into my head," she whispered, hand touching the side of her face as she remembered the odd tingling sensation that had plagued her during her bath.

It hadn't been the medicine - it had been a skillfully administered assault on her mind.

"Jean?" Xavier queried when she fell silent.

She looked up slowly at the sound of her name, the reflected glow of the fire not detracting from the iciness that slowly filled her blinking green eyes.

"How could you do something like that?" she asked breathlessly, her question directed to the Professor even as her eyes shifted to Logan.

"You know I consider the practice of entering a person's mind without their consent abhorrent, Jean, but in this case I felt it a necessary evil. I couldn't be sure that you'd agree to an evaluation in your...current frame of mind," Xavier said in a reasoning tone.

Jean's lips compressed into a thin, white line. "What do you mean, _current frame of mind_?"

Logan's stomach lurched as Jean asked the question that would bring everything out into the open. He scrunched his eyes shut, a lock of unruly hair tumbling over his brow as he turned away from the two telepaths. His guilt was nearly unbearable, making it hard to breathe, kick-starting his heart rate into overdrive as he waited for the Professor to answer her. He tried to remind himself that no matter how wrong he might be feeling, the end results - like Jean getting the help she so desperately needed - were what were most important.

Some secrets were just too dangerous, too harmful, to be kept.

Jean, taking note of Logan's slumped frame and obvious unhappiness, merely nodded before the Professor could admit to knowing what she already knew he'd been informed about. "He told you, didn't he?" she asked softly, her trembling chin the only outward sign of emotion.

Xavier couldn't hide the pitying expression in his eyes as he watched the student that was like a daughter to him seem to wilt at his nod. "Yes, Jean, he did. Not to cause you pain, but out of concern - because he cares about you like I care about you," he replied.

Logan's eyes opened to meet Jean's, not bothering to hide his plea for understanding - trying without saying that what he'd done had been for her regardless of what she may think - that after considering the options, he'd decided that by breaking his word he'd be able to help her more than the depth of his feelings ever could - and though both of them suffered now because of that decision, he willed her to believe that it was the only avenue left open to him.

Because he loved her.

Jean stared at him for what felt like an eternity to Logan, her face revealing nothing, before she got up from her chair in one fluid motion, the folds of her robe tumbling down around her legs like a curtain. She didn't say anything as she made for the door, hand reaching blindly for the knob.

"Jean, please listen to me. I want to help you work through this - we both do, but we need your co-operation to do so. If this is too overwhelming tonight, I can understand that, but if not now, then when?" Xavier asked while wheeling his chair after her.

Jean's hand fumbled at the doorknob as she regarded the approaching man with a look that suggested she was looking right through him. A vague smile clung to her lips as she nodded at the Professor, not giving any kind of coherent response, but before he could press the matter, she'd managed to pull the door open and escape through to the night-darkened hallway beyond.

Xavier propelled himself forward as if intending to follow her, but Logan stepped over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Leave it for now, Chuck. Let her sleep on it. I don't think she's up to anything else tonight," he muttered in defeat.

Xavier patted Logan's hand reassuringly. "You're probably right, however much I wish to it to be otherwise. I'm probably not in the best frame of mind to be handling such a delicate matter right now, either...still too shocked. Maybe the morning will clear her head some - help improve her outlook on the situation, and she and I can begin some much needed therapy sessions."

Logan grunted noncommittally and started to make his way out the room when Xavier cleared his throat.

"And Logan," he said when the other man paused. "I appreciate you telling me. Someday, Jean will return the sentiment."

Logan's mouth twisted sardonically as he shook his head, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.

"I wish I could believe you, Charles, but after the way she looked at me tonight, something tells me that hell will freeze over first."

He left the room after that, leaving his friend to the solitude of the fire and his own thoughts.

* * *

Logan caught up to Jean as she reached the top of the staircase. 

"Jean, wait a second," he called, attempting to put himself in her path so that she'd have to listen to what he had to say. "I want to explain - "

Jean's head slowly raised to stare at him.

Logan's entire body froze mid-stride.

The look on her face, so devoid of human emotion, so blank, was almost eerie in its steady calm. It took him aback and caused his voice to waver, well-meaning words dying in his throat unspoken. Her green gaze, seeming nearly black in the shadows of the corridor, was empty, as lifeless as a doll's. Logan suddenly felt himself wanting to take a step away from her when he saw those eyes - they disturbed him like nothing else had in long, long time.

"Jean?" Her name was little more than a whisper in the darkness.

She continued to regard him for the space of several heartbeats, face unchanging, before turning around and silently treading down the hall.

Logan watched as her bedroom door swung outward before she'd even reached it, mouth working soundlessly as he tried to think of something that would get through to her, bypass whatever barricades she'd thrown up to protect herself with.

She stepped into the room, beginning to disappear inside, the door closing quietly behind her...

"Jean - I _had_ to tell him, I had no _choice_!" He finally blurted out, rewarded when he saw her pause as if waiting to hear what else he had to say. Logan swallowed once, his chest tight, thoughts reeling. "And he was right," he heard himself say. "I did it because I _do_ care about you...more than I believed possible."

His words hung in the air between them, pregnant with hidden truths, holding them both where they stood. Logan knew that he'd finally given her the opening she'd been wanting for so long, an obscure invitation to share in the feelings that she'd brought out in him, emotions that, up until recently, he'd denied existed.

He hoped it would be enough.

Jean's face appeared in the crack between the door and the wall, pale, beautiful...unyielding.

Logan held his breath, expectant as she appraised him.

"No," was her monotone response. "I don't think you ever did."

She closed the door...and shut him out.

Logan couldn't turn away from where he'd last seen her face, even as the brightness began to fade from his eyes, leaving him cold with anger once again. He remained standing at the edge of the hall a few minutes longer, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, a bitter taste filling his mouth, before seeking out his own bed.

He knew that sleep would elude him that night, though, and for many nights after, he was sure.

Despair had a way of doing that to a guy.

* * *

_I was stained, with a role, in a day not my own  
But as you walked into my life you showed what needed to be shown  
And I always knew, what was right I just didn't know that I might  
Peel away and choose to see with such a different sight..._

The rain was stronger now.

It pelted down from an uncaring sky the colour of soot, adding to the thickness of the night and the chill in the air. Heavy, fat droplets joined those that had fallen before them, forming large, dark pools where natural depressions in the ground allowed them to, the soil too saturated from the day's previous downpour to accommodate any more liquid.

_And I will never see the sky the same way and  
I will learn to say good-bye to yesterday and  
I will never cease to fly if held down and  
I will always reach too high cause I've seen, cause I've seen, twilight..._

_**Betrayed.**_

The mud squelched beneath her bare feet as she walked, pushing up between her toes, only to wash away beneath the constant, steady drizzle.

She should have been cold, shivering within her sodden clothing, trembling from the damp and wet, but she wasn't.

She should have been concerned about the dirt flying up at every other step, splattering the hem of her nightgown and the backs of her calves, but she wasn't.

Nothing could touch her.

She was already numb.

_Never cared never wanted  
Never sought to see what flaunted  
So on purpose so in my face  
__Couldn't see beyond my own place  
And it was so easy not to behold what I could hold  
But you taught me I could change  
Whatever came within these shallow days..._

_**Lied to.**_

With an unhurried gait she continued to walk, eyes forward, not looking back at the sprawling house that loomed over her shoulder. She knew that if she did, if she hesitated for even a second, her nerve would dissolve and she'd be lost.

Approaching the stand of trees that announced the beginning of the forest that surrounded the estate, she stopped, not needing to turn around to know he was there.

She wasn't sure how, but she knew that he would be.

_And I will never see the sky the same way and  
I will learn to say good-bye to yesterday and  
I will never cease to fly if held down and  
I will always reach too high cause I've seen, cause I've seen..._

Strangely, his presence reassured her, prompting her to speak first.

"You said that you'd show me the truth...when I was ready." Her voice was soft, but she knew that it had carried over the sound of the wind and rain, knew that he'd heard.

"Yes," the figure behind her replied, a shadow within the shadows.

She half-turned to face him, not surprised to see him only a few feet away.

She could feel his eyes on her, could feel the weight of his power pressing against her like it was a tangible thing.

She walked over to him so that she could see his face, staring at him intently.

_As the sun shines through it pushes away and pushes ahead  
It fills the warmth of blue and leaves a chill instead and  
I didn't know that I could be so blind to all that is so real  
But as illusion dies I see there is so much to be revealed..._

_**Deceived.**_

_**Unloved.**_

_**Broken.**_

"I'm ready."

_And I will never see the sky the same way and  
I will learn to say good-bye to yesterday and  
I will never cease to fly if held down and  
I will always reach too high cause I've seen, cause I've seen, twilight... _

Magneto nodded, as if he expected nothing less, and extended his hand to her.

Jean looked at it without moving, watching how the rain slid over the glove that he wore, knowing that this was it.

The point of no return.

_I was stained, with a role, in a day not my own  
But as you walked into my life you showed what needed to be shown  
And I always knew, what was right  
I just didn't know that I might  
Peel away and choose to see with such a different sight..._

She placed her smaller hand into his larger one, and felt the magnetic field that encompassed his hovering form stretch and expand so that it included her as well. Her body rose into the air, feet dangling over the puddle she'd been standing in, water dripping from her toes to fall back down to earth.

She allowed him to pull her closer as they lifted away from the ground...

Away from the mansion...

And away from the life she was leaving behind.

_And I will never see the sky the same way and  
I will learn to say good-bye to yesterday and  
I will never cease to fly if held down and  
I will always reach too high cause I've seen, cause I've seen, twilight..._

* * *

Author's Notes: 

Just a short point - I know that 'modern' Sentinels have been created without much metal in them, but in early days, Magneto was able to pretty much tear them apart like he does everything else. I'm sticking with that angle for the time being.


	2. Part Two

Trial By Fire - Part Two  
Disclaimer: I do not own ANY Marvel characters, no copyright infringement intended.  
Rating:PG - language

* * *

She twisted a strand of still damp red gold hair around a slender finger, regarding him with eyes that glittered like twin emeralds in the firelight. She'd been watching him for what seemed like hours, curled up on a settee before a massive stone hearth that blazed with a captive orange heat, the fire's multitude of tongues licking hungrily at the wood that was being fed to it by his steady hands.

He stood from his crouched position, staring into the fire glow as he did so, presenting her with his side profile, the chiseled planes of his stony face illuminated by the soft light. She studied him, even though she was sure that he felt her gaze on him, taking note of the strength he exuded, the sharpness of his features, how he hardly ever blinked.

They hadn't spoken since leaving the grounds of the mansion, traveling in a strange, yet comfortable silence until they'd reached their destination. Where that was, she had no idea, and surprisingly enough, she didn't feel the need to ask.

She didn't care.

Since taking his hand, allowing him to draw her from all that was familiar, she'd felt...different, lighter, like she was existing in a dream. It didn't worry or unnerve her, feeling so far removed from reality, like it should have done - like it would have done had she been anywhere else but here with him. No, instead, it gave her a sense of peacefulness that she hadn't had for a very long time. It was comforting...like the warmth was comforting, like their mutual need for wordlessness was comforting.

He turned to her then, blue eyes catching green.

She didn't look away, continuing to stare.

He noted the fearlessness with which she presented him with, noted it and nodded, a slight smile cracking through the icy cast of his face.

She marveled at how that miniscule quirk of his lips didn't detract from his stern countenance, but rather enhanced it, and marveled anew at what kind of man she'd thrown her lot in with. Far from being concerned, it merely intrigued her further.

He moved to the great armchair that sat opposite her, sinking into it gracefully, his gaze never leaving her pale face. She returned his stare steadily.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked suddenly, his voice sliding into the void of silence without seeming to disturb it.

His tone was warm, rich as honey.

She would never have credited the cultured timbre to belong to someone like him, but it did.

"Yes," she replied after a moment, not venturing to speak further until he did.

"Would you care to change your clothes?" he questioned, fine-boned hands gesturing towards her reclining figure.

She glanced down at herself, only a little surprised to see that she was still garbed in the thigh-length nightgown she'd been wearing when she left the mansion, bare feet peeking out from behind legs that had been tucked underneath her body. Pondering his query for a moment, she decided that it didn't matter. She was warm and dry, what she wore was of no concern to her.

She looked back up to him, realizing that he had divested himself of his usual crimson and violet body armor at some point - most likely while she'd been lost in thought after he'd directed her to the room they both currently occupied. Now he lounged in black dress pants and a long-sleeved black dress shirt, buttoned all the way to his throat, his silver white hair providing a sharp contrast to his choice of garments.

Seeing him thus attired shocked her, now that it registered in her brain, never having seen him without his uniform before.

She allowed herself another few seconds of mute appraisal, her eyes covertly scanning his black-clad form, before she replied to him.

"No," was all she murmured, meeting his amused stare and feeling herself flush beneath it without knowing why.

Fleetingly, as she felt the infusion of blood warm the skin of her neck and cheeks, the thought of another man who liked to dress in black t-shirts and dark denim skittered through her mind, distracting her for a second. With effort, she banished the image and focused her attention on the figure before her.

"Very well," he murmured, leaning back into his chair, his eyes fixing intently on her fire-shadowed face. "What would you have of me?"

"The truth," she replied simply, hugging herself tight.

He nodded at this, as if her response was expected.

"And once you have it, what then?" he queried suddenly, throwing her off balance. She had not anticipated the question, and her face reflected her surprise.

"I - I don't know. I'm not sure what I want to do...not sure what I _should_ do..." she replied, her voice softly strangled at the last with unspent emotion.

He nodded again, this time soothingly, knowing as he had upon meeting her that something in her life was causing her much distress. Something had upset her enough to pull her from the bosom of one Charles Xavier and bring her to him. Something that he might be able to help her overcome, should she but ask it of him.

_But all in due time_, he told himself with a secret smile. All it would take to bind this girl closer to him, his cause, his family, was patience - and he possessed that in abundance, despite what others might assume.

"I will make no demands of you. Your decisions are, ultimately, your own, of course," he said smoothly, trying to make himself appear as non-threatening as he could.

She seemed to take comfort in his words, sinking further into the divan with a rustle of cloth, the restless look in her eyes dimming so that only the glow of the hearth's embers were reflected in their depths once again.

He allowed her one of his rare, full smiles to reassure her further, his appearance transformed by the slight gesture from stark severity to one of disarming charm, inviting warmth. The effect was not lost on her, either, surprising her first when she was able to see beyond his usual, frost-rimmed demeanor to view the actual man beneath it. Then, shocking her a second time when she realized just how handsome a man there was hidden beneath the harsh mask he wore. It unnerved her enough when she came to understand this that she had to shift in her seat to quell the rising rush of nervous heat that had quickly formed in her belly at the notion.

He seemed to take note of her discomfort and, though he would never admit it - not even to himself, the warmly appraising gleam in her eyes. Guessing where and what it stemmed from jarred him as equally as it had his guest.

"I am curious, however." He cleared his throat even as he cleared his mind of the alien thoughts that assailed him. "About the circumstances that led you here this evening."

As soon as the words passed his lips, he saw her straighten up, her expression going from interested speculation to cold defensiveness in the space of a heartbeat.

"I told you," she began, "I want to know the - "

"The truth, yes, yes. I am aware of your desire to know more about your mentor, and his role in the Sentinel project," he interrupted, his own eyes becoming speculative and boring into her face with renewed force. "But surely that alone would not be reason enough to abscond from the loving warmth of your family in the dead of night, trading their company for mine in so short a time." He was now gazing at her like she was a curiosity, like she held a secret buried deep beneath the surface of her skin.

She shivered unintentionally under the intense scrutiny, not comfortable with his comments, or where she suspected they were leading to.

"Whatever those reasons may be, they are mine to keep and none of your business," she murmured, voice barely heard above the crackling fire burning so close to them.

He leaned in close to her, hands resting below his chin, face grave.

"You may indeed keep those secrets close, my dear, but I can see them in your eyes - can see what you refuse to admit, perhaps even to yourself," he whispered back to her, watching as the colour drained from her petal-smooth cheeks.

She seemed torn between offering him a scathing reply or getting up and leaving.

He waited to see which option she would choose.

"What are you talking about?" she asked instead, the faintest hint of a tremor shaking her words.

He sat back, trying to hide the wave of satisfaction that tingled through him.

"I'm talking about the fear...the vulnerability...the taint of _weakness._" His voice hissed at the last, making her cringe and blink nervously.

She smoothed her hands over her lap, toying with the hem of her nightshirt, unable to meet his eyes.

What he'd said to her, what he'd intimated, left her breathless with disbelief.

_How can he know? How can he see the truth when no one else has been able to? How is it possible?_

He spoke again, disturbing her thoughts, urging her to once again look up to him.

"Now you wonder how someone like me can see such things simply by looking into another's eyes. _The eyes are the windows to the soul,_" he quoted, chuckling softly - though it sounded bitter to her ears. His gaze sought hers and locked onto it, his face reverting to the chilled marble it so often resembled. "I look into your eyes and see a paler, less haunted version of my own. I know of what you feel because I felt much the same - only more so - after I escaped Auschwitz in my youth."

She gasped, fingers flying up to cover her open mouth.

He didn't seem to notice her movement, his vision slightly glazed with remembrance.

"A death camp marks you just as the inked numbers on my arm does...only, unlike the tattoo, it mars your very soul. You become more than weak, more than scarred, more than afraid; you become devoid of the will to live, little more than an animated corpse." His eyes refocused and he shook his head, ridding his mind of whatever images had begun to come to life within. "So you see, it was not very difficult to discern your heart - not when I used to see a similar expression staring back at me every time I chanced to glance in a mirror so many years ago."

She was more than shaken with his recounting of the past, shaken and strangely humbled at the same time. Distractedly, she ran her fingers through her hair, attempting to loosen a tangle she discovered in a bid for a moment to think.

_Well, that certainly explains his animosity towards regular humans_, she thought to herself with sudden understanding. _After living through the hell that he has, how could he not view their intolerance of mutants with the same fear of genocide that intolerance caused - still causes - everyday in the world?_

As she considered his words, something inside of her broke, softening her perspective towards him like nothing else could have. A bizarre urge to offer him comfort was quashed before it was able to grow, leaving her embarrassed and with nothing to focus on except feelings of shame and unsettling discomfort.

_The most terrifying pain - profound loss and grief...he endured it, endured and seemingly overcame it. I went through a certainly horrifying experience of my own, though nothing even **close** to his, and what do I do? I wallow in self-pity and just expect my situation to improve, doing nothing..._

She swallowed and steeled herself to speak, not sure of what she should say, but needing to know nonetheless.

"How did you manage to...heal...from what you went through?" she asked, voice shaking.

"Many mutants call their talents a _curse_ and revile them, hating what they've become. For me, the opposite occurred. It was my power that saved me from the Nazi firing squad that killed my family, my power that freed me from the death camp just before the Allies arrived to liberate the incarcerated Jews. It was my power, even after many more..._disappointments _were suffered in my life, that gave me the strength to go on living." He spoke with such conviction, such passion, that she found herself unable to look away from his shining eyes - no longer were they a January blue, but a blazing sapphire, holding her in thrall with their intensity.

"You mentioned...a weakness in me," she said softly, shaking her head so that her burnished tresses gently waved about her porcelain face. "My powers are responsible for that. In my - my time of need, they couldn't...they weren't enough."

He leaned in close once again, breaking the distance between them by placing his larger, fine-boned hand atop hers.

The heat that traveled from him to her was welcome, banishing the numb chill that had decided to settle deep within her knuckles. She met his eyes; they were only inches away from hers now.

"You are still so young. Sometimes I forget about the youth of those around me," he murmured, his gaze sliding across her face slowly, the fingers of his free hand reaching up to touch her cheek - then hesitating - pulling back.

A shiver threatened her - as if he'd actually made contact, as if he'd drawn that pale, manicured appendage lightly across her skin instead of just hinting at wanting to do that. In the back of her mind, she wondered what she would have done had he allowed himself that brief caress. She also wondered where such strange thoughts were coming from, and why.

"I can help you overcome such feelings," he finally breathed, drawing her from her musings. The hand that lay over hers twitched as he spoke.

Her head tilted as she regarded him solemnly, lashes sweeping up and down like butterfly wings with each slow blink. "How?" she asked, the word a plaintive whisper falling into the close quiet surrounding them.

He smiled - a sly, secretive smile meant just for the two of them, and absently stroked the flesh of her fingers until he'd driven the chill from them completely.

"On Asteroid M, I created a machine - a wondrously magnificent device, one that would enhance any mutant ability with the flick of a switch. Unfortunately, it was not perfected when you first encountered it, though I doubt you took note, being so disapproving of my methods at that time," he recounted, his lips slipping into a wry half grin.

She nodded, remembering how Scott and Alex had been transformed by the machine, how they'd emerged from its steamy inner chamber neither looking like they had upon entering, nor behaving like the people she knew they really were. She recalled the disdain with which she'd greeted the strange new technology, the self-righteousness of her words as she'd lectured Scott before leaving him to make his own decision as to whether or not he could live as an enhanced mutant.

Remembering made her realize just how naïve she'd been a little over a year ago.

"That was then," she heard herself saying, no longer able to meet his eyes, his nearness causing a new flush to start climbing her neck.

_Before I had reason to need such things... _she added silently, wondering if he had something akin to that device in mind for her.

"I have rebuilt the enhancement chamber," he whispered in reply to her unspoken query. "Only this time, it is perfect."

Startled yet again, her wide eyes darted up, meeting his and mutely asking for clarity.

"Should you but wish it, I can help erase the shadows darkening these lovely eyes. I can recreate your strength, rebuild your faith in yourself, and, most importantly," he paused dramatically, leaning back on his heels, "I can give you _power_ - power enough so that nothing will ever cause you pain again."

He watched as his words hit home, feeling the fingers that lay beneath his begin to tremble with suppressed emotion. He saw her chest expand and contract as the pace of her breathing increased - noted the tongue that slipped deftly between her lips as it moistened them - unconscious actions all, as she considered the gift that he offered her. Before she'd even replied to him, he knew that he had her, and that knowledge was as sweet on his tongue as any confection could have been, filling him with the same sensation that many of his victories of the past had done.

She finally raised her downcast eyes from their contemplation of the stone floor beneath her feet, her features gone from uncertainty to determination, from confused to hardened surety. Her hand, once lying so passively beneath his, suddenly slipped from his fingers only to slide deftly back across them, clutching at his hand tightly.

"If I accepted what you're saying - if I chose to do what you're suggesting, what would be expected of me? What are you asking as payment?" she questioned, amending her words when she saw him frown at the initial phrasing.

"I have never expected anything from anyone, despite what Xavier may say about me. I have chosen to dedicate my life to assisting those mutants who are in need of my help. I have never required _payment_ or any form of recompense. I merely wish to offer guidance where it is needed most - to those that the world shuns, to those that Xavier deems unfit." He spoke earnestly at first, lapsing once again into bitterness with his later words.

She was surprised that he had not yet pulled away from her - surprised and grateful.

The contact between them was immensely gratifying for reasons she could not name, but it was welcome all the same.

"Unfit?" she asked when his comment registered. "You mean Lance and his friends."

"Yes," he replied, a lock of his wavy hair tumbling over his brow with his nod. "Xavier selected his children as one would pick fruit from a tree - keeping the prettiest, the sweetest, for himself. The undesirables, the ones too dirty and bruised to have worth, he cast aside. To him, those boys were nothing more than problems - common ruffians without a place to serve in his grand scheme - and in doing so, he set them adrift to fend for themselves in a world full of hatred and hopelessness."

He shook his head again, the silvery tendrils of hair playing across his face as he did so, making her hand itch with the need to brush them aside.

_It looks so soft... _strayed through her mind uninvited as she watched the specks of reflected light shimmer down the length of those few strands.

"Without someone to care for them, to teach them to use their powers, bring them together so that they understand they are not alone, they would still be struggling, faltering, failing. Without me, they would still be lost and afraid."

The faces of his four young charges swam up before her eyes, infusing her with a soft warmth so instantaneous, so emotional, that tears were on the verge of forming.

They had proven themselves to her beyond a shadow of a doubt only a few short days ago - proved that there was so much more to them than just their gruff, rebellious exteriors.

They had earned her trust.

They had earned her gratitude.

They had earned her friendship - if they wanted it.

"Though it may have been otherwise in the past," she said when he quieted, "I've come to regard those boys in a much different light of late. They try so hard to hide it, but I know they can be kind and decent...I know they can be heroes when it counts."

Her soft admission seemed to encourage his enthusiasm, creating an energy within him that was evident in his tone.

"If you believe what you are telling me in your heart, then let me do for you what I have done for those children. Let me help you regain whatever was taken from you - let me draw you from the isolation, the despair - the very pain that led you to me. If my young ones have earned your trust, then look now to the person who started them down that path and made that possible."

How could she not be left breathless in the face of such an impassioned speaker? She found herself nodding before she even found her voice, wanting nothing more than to believe in everything he promised, believe that he could make her whole again and take away the searing feelings of nothingness that dominated her every waking hour.

He regarded her solemnly for a moment before standing, pulling her to her feet in one swift motion. The rush of blood returning to her lower limbs tingled uncomfortably for a few seconds, and then they were walking, leaving the heated chamber for the coolness of the hallway without. He kept his hold on her hand, leading her through the many turns of the labyrinth-like structure that he currently called 'home', further down with every step, towards the subterranean levels where his creation lay dormant.

_But not for long_... his inner voice rejoiced, and he had to quell his gleeful excitement with much effort.

Finally, they passed through an arched doorway flanked to either side by a pair of sconce-bound candles, their flames splashing rings of light against the walls of stone that surrounded them. If either had warmth to spare, it wasn't enough to heat any length of the noticeably colder lower halls. Once inside the surprisingly more modern chamber, she was able to take note of what lay around her: a series of stainless steel worktables, walls papered with what looked to be schematics, tools and smaller mechanical devices strewn about haphazardly. It looked like any other workshop she'd ever seen, and that gave her some small measure of comfort. During the trip ever downwards, an anxiety had begun to overtake her as she wondered what exactly she had agreed to do.

Now that she had reached her destination, the worry fled in favour of a distant numbness.

He had released her hand to move about the room, and she watched him, rooted to the spot where he'd left her. He checked various gauges and buttons, smoothing his white hands across a large square of metal with a sigh that fairly floated to her on the still air.

Then he turned to her, his eyes dark with obvious pleasure, that heady, secretive smile he'd revealed to her earlier once again in place.

And this time, standing before him, she felt the full force of those shadowed good looks, felt her skin flush with goosebumps and her knees tremble slightly. She wanted to attribute such reactions to the cold, but when her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him stalking towards her as fluid and graceful as a feline, such improbabilities were driven from her mind - she was left with nothing.

Nothing but liquid green eyes staring up into a face that was by turns cruel and implacable, and - like now - dangerously handsome.

The warmth in her abdomen began building as he placed both of his hands on her slender shoulders; she willed it away half-heartedly, too distracted by the look in his eyes, too confused by how he might command such a response from her body.

Only one other had ever stirred such interest...and even he had been unable to kindle that inner spark when she'd last encountered him.

_One other_... she thought sadly, wondering what he would think of her now before banishing such unworthy details from her mind completely.

_He's nothing to me anymore...fucking Judas..._

The hands on her shoulders convulsed with suppressed excitement, bringing her back to herself.

"Are you ready, my dear?" he asked somewhat breathlessly, towering above her.

She glanced over and studied the metal doorway - presumably the entrance to the chamber - before turning back to him and tilting her head, a quizzical look on her face.

"Before I do this, tell me how the Professor is involved with the Sentinel project," she said, reminding him of their initial bargain.

"Ah, yes," he replied, one hand breaking contact with her to adjust the cuff of his other sleeve. "The history that Xavier and I share is a long and complicated one - as full of good times and light-hearted camaraderie as it was anger and pain. The telling of it in its entirety would take hours - if not days, so, if it will appease, I will present you with the condensed version."

At her nod, he continued.

"Some years after the war, your Professor and I met as young men in Israel. As those with similar goals, notions, and ideas are wont to do, we became fast friends and all but inseparable - as close as brothers. It was during that part of our relationship that he made his views on mutants - and, more importantly, how they should use their powers, quite clear to me. Suffice to say, even then I was not in full agreement with him. But he had not lived the life I had, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt and let him continue believing in his idealistic vision of the world. He was...amusing, to say the least."

He paused, his eyes once again growing distant with memories.

"And then something happened...something that determined how we would spend the rest of our lives, forcing us to choose opposite ends of the spectrum for good or ill for the remainder of our days. A survivor of the Holocaust, a woman Charles fell very much in love with, was taken from us - kidnapped. He refused to use his abilities to save her, denying his talents even though it meant never seeing his beloved Gabrielle alive ever again."

While it intrigued her to finally hear of her mentor's past, she felt like an intruder, a thief treading through memories where she had no business being. Before she could wave him off to cease his oration, he continued, his voice thick with sudden anger.

"It infuriated me, this...this _apathetic_ approach - this decision to not fully utilize the gifts that had been bestowed upon us. Was this not the very reason we had been granted such abilities - to help those who required it? To vanquish those men whose evil was so readily apparent that it had left their eyes hollow, devoid of any vestige of decency?"

He shook her slightly at that, calming only when he realized that he was doing so.

"So I took it upon myself to rescue the girl from her tormentors, using my powers to defeat them, much to Charles' disapproval. Instead of being grateful, he turned from me, branding me a traitor, no longer calling me friend. I had become everything he raged against - a mutant who had decided to use his talents selfishly, or so he said. When he returned to the States, I learned - through many different sources - that he had come to the realization that there would be other mutants like me, other mutants that would pose a 'threat' to his orderly way of life. It was then that he began his work on the preliminary designs for what we now know to be Sentinels."

Her eyes were wide when he looked to her again, shocked and full of something close to disbelief, as if she had not fully expected to hear such damning evidence against her mentor.

His smile changed, twisting wryly as he finished his story.

"Xavier worked for many years on his project, presenting it to various government officials already aware of the X-gene and what it promised, promoting it as a means for keeping rogue mutants like myself 'in line' should the need ever arise. They were to be his police force, used strictly to hunt down any mutant that didn't conform to his way of thinking. The only problem is those self-same government worms were not as pro-mutant as Charles believed they were. Even though the Sentinels were built under Charles' watchful eye, they were programmed to hunt any individual with an X-gene while his back was turned."

His face lowered towards hers, sincere blue eyes burning into horrified green.

"And it was his recent suspicion of this double-cross which prompted him to send you and your blood-thirsty companion into the lion's den yesterday - to confirm his fears, which, as you well know, were proven very real."

"My god," she whispered, his face so close to hers he could feel her warm breath against his cheek.

"All this chaos...simply because Charles Xavier needs to hold the reins of power. Because he can't abide _anyone _challenging his opinions when it comes to mutant affairs. He has become a dictator of sorts, and blinds you all to that fact by using your innocence and his fatherly charms to his best advantage."

Their eyes remained locked even as his hand reached up, his thumb and forefinger gripping her chin lightly.

"And now you know the truth," he murmured, the texture of her satiny skin distracting him enough that released her seconds later. "I'm glad you chose to seek it out for yourself - to think for yourself - beyond the constrictions Xavier has placed on you. Such individuality serves you well."

She shivered and gave herself a mind-clearing shake, closing her eyes in attempt to absorb all the new and disturbing information she'd gleaned. As it digested, a peaceful feeling descended upon her, leaving her more resolved than she'd been before.

_It all makes sense...it all fits... _she told herself, a tension she hadn't been aware of sliding out of her muscles and leaving them jelly-like.

There was no more need for conversation, for entreaties - assurances - long lost truths. As the last shred of the Professor's projected image died a quiet, unheralded death, so did all of her remaining doubts, what few there were. The hole that had recently been ripped into her soul had increased in size at discovering just how deeply entrenched the Professor was in the plan that betrayed all mutants.

And she couldn't stand the aching emptiness a second longer.

She needed something - anything - to fill her up and chase away the cold, and if this machine could do that for her, she was ready to experience it.

Still barefoot, she walked across the icy floor towards the dull metal doorway that was hinged to the far wall. Using her powers for the first time that night, she visualized the door swinging open, and, unlocked, it did so, slowly and silently. She turned one last time to face the man who had brought her to this decision, met his eyes briefly, and then stepped into the sterile, enclosed space that lay beyond. She used her teke to seal the door behind her before taking hold of a pair of long, smooth railings she imagined were there specifically for that purpose. Her breathing sped up as the sound of locks clanging home echoed from the outside, shutting her in completely and leaving no room for recourse.

Events were set in motion.

There was no going back.

A bead of sweat trickled down her spine beneath her shirt despite the fact that she was still shivering from the cold. She bit her lip in an attempt to steady the rush of nervousness that swelled up from the pit of her stomach.

A whirring noise caught her attention, causing her to freeze, the spasmodic movement of her hands on the railings her only movement. The sound intensified to a deep, reverberating hum that swept up from her toes, climbing steadily until she could feel it vibrating against her scalp, almost like an electrical current running the length of her body. It should have felt unpleasant, but strangely, it wasn't.

The lights above her began changing colour, their stark whiteness bleeding into an orange glow, ultimately darkening to the blackest crimson, bathing her in near night.

The humming picked up in pitch, whining like a jet engine in the back of her ears...and then she felt the heat.

It started out as nothing more than a soothing warmth, like she'd been immersed in a hot bath, but then it, too, altered, until she felt as if every inch of skin was being scalded at the same time. Her eyes dried out, making it next to impossible to blink, her throat became parched so that she couldn't swallow. The urge to scream was building within her lungs, as were the fevered thoughts in her mind that something must have gone wrong and she was going to literally be cooked until crisp.

It was then that she heard the voice.

The colours within the chamber had begun to change as well, swirling around her in a riot of wild shades, the killing heat receding to a more even temperature. She was able to focus on the voice and strained to listen to it as it spoke directly to her from the inside of her head.

_"Why have you summoned me?"_

The disembodied voice sent a thrill of power through her, jolting her up on her tiptoes, making her nipples tighten with just that one taste of energy. Panting at the sparkling rush that invaded her entire body, she gazed upwards as if seeking the origin of the power, awe and wonderment painted across her face.

"What do you mean?" her mind asked back.

_"It is not the time that was foretold, and yet I am called...you must release me at once..."_

She heard the words echo against the boundaries of her skull, felt them resonate with a tangible quality...and something akin to desperation.

"I don't understand..."

The light above her head went incandescent, flaring suddenly, blinding her with white brilliance. The chamber's machinery began to scream with exertion and the heat returned tenfold, searing her flesh. She cried out involuntarily, shaken by what was going on all around her, and by this seemingly imaginary voice in her head.

_"This cannot happen - it is not for us to come together here, now...you **must** release your hold on me..."_

The words, once softly spoken within the recesses of her head, now fairly ripped into her brain, causing pain to explode throughout her entire body.

"I don't know how!" she called back, eyes screwed shut against the bombardment of frightening sensation, fighting past the fear to communicate her ignorance.

Before she could say anything further, the chamber groaned deafeningly, belching out streamers of hissing steam amidst the deluge of sound, clouding the chamber - and something suddenly slammed into her with the force of a freight train.

She doubled over in surprise as her lungs - her heart - the world, stopped.

One moment there was noise and light and feeling, the next, nothing.

Her eyes sprung open instantly, going round with shock as she tried to take a breath that wouldn't come.

The heat that had once been all encompassing had vanished, only to rekindle from a stabbing spark beneath her breast, flaring to life and through her veins so quickly that she wouldn't have had time to scream had she been able to. Spots danced in her vision and, dimly, she knew that she was seconds from passing out. Before she succumbed to the black velvet of unconsciousness that reared behind her eyes, she fell to the steel floor of the chamber, barely registering that she'd collapsed, too consumed by the myriad of other torments raging through her insides to notice.

_I'm dying...oh God...Logan...it hurts..._

The darkness took hold with a sense of finality, despite her attempts to remain aware, sweeping everything from her mind with it - except for a lingering, wailing cry, echoing from what seemed like a great distance beyond.

_"...too soon Child of Man...too soon..."  
_

* * *

He watched as the machine began to power down with an eagerness he'd rarely experienced before, the clicking of its locking mechanism signaling that the chamber was safe to enter. A thrill shivered down his spine.

_When she steps out from within, she - and all her power - will be wholly committed to me, body and soul_, his mind whispered victoriously.

A savage grin stretched his face at the thought; one of his enemy's most trusted, most loyal, most powerful followers now subverted to his cause. It was just too deliciously ironic.

_Although_, he mused as he checked over the computer readout of the machine's performance. _It wasn't as difficult to accomplish as I had expected it to be. Some well-placed doubts, hints of treachery intertwined with the truth, offerings of comfort and shared grief..._

He looked up to one of the numerous monitors mounted on the walls as it continued to register falling levels of energy from the chamber, his self-satisfied smile now reflected from within the depths of his eyes. An uncharacteristic laugh threatened to bubble up from his throat as he slowly went over the events that had lead him and his guest to where they were at that moment.

The good fortune that had placed them both at the Sentinel compound on the same night, the opportunity to speak with her sans chaperone - allowing him to plant the first seedlings of discord that had borne fruit so quickly.

_And Pietro's timely update on her...situation...was perfection itself,_ he admitted with something much like fatherly pride. _Without that knowledge of her vulnerability, of how broken a creature she'd become, I might have lost whatever advantage I've had with her._

He discarded the number-covered printouts, chuckling with smug delight, and turned to face the machine, awaiting his guest's presence.

He didn't have to wait long.

The sound of the door being pushed outwards - the pop of the vacuum sealing, the grind of metal on metal - reverberated all around him seconds later. Steam billowed out behind the giant slab of steel, trailing after it like the ghostly tail of a comet, dissipating moments later when it encountered the chill air without. He could see her shadowed form moving from within the newly created cavity, could see her approaching the machine's gaping maw. His hands clenched and unclenched with a breathless, impatient excitement as he maintained his position at one of the worktables, fighting the urge to run to her and see what kind of change his creation had wrought.

* * *

Jean Grey stepped into the bright light of the stainless steel room, naked but for the spill of crimson that cascaded down her back and over the flushed skin of her breasts. Had she looked over her shoulder, she would have been able to see the tiny specks of black ash that had once been her nightgown littering the floor of the now lifeless enhancement chamber. Instead, she came to stand stiffly a few feet from the man who had been waiting for her.

He was smiling at her, staring directly at her face as if trying to accord her some measure of modesty.

"How do you feel?" was his first question.

She tilted her head at hearing it, as if unsure of what he was asking, before smiling wide enough to show her teeth, a heat she was becoming accustomed to flaring through every molecule she possessed with the action. She looked to him then, her eyes boring into his, and saw his triumphant exuberance flee from her gaze, replaced by an ill-concealed hesitancy. She could literally _hear_ his wonder - and his wariness - threading into her brain, his emotions urging the fiery warmth swirling beneath her skin to greater, more intense proportions. The sensation of flames licking their way out from within made her laugh, a silvery peal that sounded alien even to her own ears, though she paid the notion little heed.

"I feel...I feel...like a whole new person," she whispered, countering the wild laughter of seconds before.

She could feel the inner heat traveling up her neck until it drowned her completely, filling her head with such clarity that she knew that, if she wished it, she could look up and see every star in the sky - no matter how far below ground she was. Her head leaned backwards as she contemplated doing just that, before turning her attention back to the man that had gifted her with such ability. When their eyes met, she heard him release a stifled gasp.

Without any effort, his thoughts floated to her past the mental barricades she knew he'd erected - thoughts she could feel, and taste, and see...

_...so much power...can feel it resonating...rolling off of her in waves...her eyes...her **eyes**...they're full of **fire**..._

His words, the manner in which he regarded her, made her giggle.

The way he cringed from that unexpected, slightly maniacal sound, made her laugh all the more.

"You're certain you feel...well?" he asked when her mirth quieted, his tone once again that of a man in control, though laced liberally with undercurrents of concern.

Her flame-wreathed eyes, glowing softly like burning embers, blinked in amusement at him.

"Of course, Erik - better than you could ever imagine."


	3. Chapter Three

Title: Trial By Fire  
Author: furygrrl  
Archive: Just ask first  
Disclaimer: Not mine - except the military guys. But I don't want 'em anyway. ;)

**A/N: First and foremost, YES. I have updated and will finally be continuing this story. I know it's been a while ::coughunderstatementcough:: but thanks to all the encouragement I've been receiving from various sources, my increased drive to write, and the newly discovered joy of posting shorter chapters, my desire to complete this sorely neglected fic has become nothing short of overwhelming these past weeks. **

**So just to clarify, future installments for TBF will be MUCH shorter than previous ones (ie. Chapter One which spans 38 pages in Word) so I hope fans of my more epic endeavors won't be disappointed. The good thing about this 'new set-up' is that you'll probably be seeing more frequent updates - key word 'probably'. ;)**

**Today's bonus? Two chapters posted instead of one. **

**Shout outs to reviewers and those people who make me smile in general can be found down below. **

* * *

Chapter Three

Lt. Mitch Parker lit up a cigarette, took a deep haul, and leaned back against the brick exterior of the guardhouse with something akin to numb relief. He scrubbed a hand across his face wearily, noting that his eyes felt gritty with fatigue, and that he was in dire need of a shave.

_Just a few more hours..._ he promised himself silently, tapping ashes onto the ground, absently debating the merits of cutting his break short to give himself enough time to grab another coffee before returning to his post.

As if the thought of much-needed caffeine had been a summons, a hand magically appeared in front of his face, offering a Styrofoam cup brimming with the steaming, black liquid.

"Thanks, Johnson," Parker mumbled without looking up, easily identifying the tattooed forearm inches from his nose even in the near dark. He smiled slightly, the merest twist of his lips, wondering for the hundredth time why his friend had inked something so common as the heart-wreathed 'Mother' into his flesh more than a decade ago. To hear Johnson tell it, he couldn't even stand the woman.

"Thought you could use it," Johnson replied gruffly, pulling out and lighting his own cigarette when Parker finally took the cup.

They stood in companionable silence for the better part of a minute, each one lost in thought, exhaling smoke and gulping hot coffee, until they turned to look at one another almost at the same time, the uneasy light in one set of eyes exactly mirrored by other's.

"What the hell are they thinking, keeping this place open after what happened?" Parker finally muttered darkly, dropping the stub of cigarette that remained, grinding it into the asphalt with the heel of his boot. "Almost an entire company wiped out, fourteen white-coats," he continued, shaking his head in disgust. "Not to mention Major Donnelly."

"Yeah," Johnson said, huffing heavily. "Me and Simms were still trying to get the old bastard's blood off the floor this morning, 'til we decided that it was a waste of time." He shook his head, then barked a short laugh, revealing wrinkled fingertips. "So much for that industrial strength cleaning shit, huh?"

Parker nodded, trying to banish the images his friend's words had brought to the forefront of his mind, images that he knew would stay with him until the day he died.

Hallways full of corpses, ripped up, slashed, and gutted. Lab technicians missing limbs, soldiers laying in pools of congealed blood that fairly glued them to the ground, and the Major, found without his throat and most of his face. Even now, days after making the grisly discovery, Parker felt bile rising in his stomach, stinging his esophagus as he tried to swallow it back down.

"And can you believe that chicken shit, Lynch? Saying that one guy did all that - _one_ guy, with fucking _knives_ sticking out of hands!" Johnson scoffed, ducking into the guardhouse to dispose of his empty cup. "Martinez told me he found that rookie coward passed out in his own piss, so I don't see how he'd know anything. If you ask me," he continued in a low voice, "we were hit by some terrorist organization, or the goddamned Commies!"

Parker almost smiled at his friend's conspiracy-theory-like diatribe, but didn't. Instead, he gave Johnson a rueful look and shook his head. "Lynch might not be the most reliable source, but the surveillance tapes don't lie," he murmured, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Johnson blinked, and then his eyes went wide. "You telling me that a single guy sliced and diced his way through the whole place?" he demanded, sounding outraged.

"Not just a guy," Parker grated, feeling his nausea recede as instant anger took over. "A mutant."

Johnson opened his mouth, about to unleash a stream of expletives at the revelation, or so Parker surmised, but before the other man could vent his well-known opinion of 'those fucking muties', a flickering light in the distance made him pause, ultimately drawing both of their gazes.

"And what do you suppose that is?" Johnson queried, scratching his crew-cut head as he continued to watch the light as it neared. "A plane?"

"Can't be," Parker said quietly, squinting into the night. "We're sitting in the middle of a no-fly zone. Airspace is restricted for miles."

"Lightning maybe?"

"It's a clear sky."

"Falling star?"

"Unless they've started falling horizontally, I'd say that's another negative."

"Well, what _else_ could it be?" Johnson groused in exasperation.

The light had grown in the few seconds the two men had used trying to identify it, becoming larger, brighter, its approaching speed eating up the miles between it and the base. As it closed in on them, the glowing thing started to come into focus, its radiance coalescing into an actual shape, finally registering as something that was simply beyond impossible.

Parker felt adrenaline flush through his system before he even realized what he was looking at, prompting him into panicked action. Darting into the guardhouse, he slammed his hand on the communication console, ignoring Johnson's frenzied babbling behind him.

"This is Lieutenant Parker, we have an emergency!" he shouted into the small mike, his other hand reaching blindly for the Beretta 9 mm holstered at his hip.

A sizzle of static, a series of clicks, and then...nothing. The line between the guardhouse and Central was dead.

"Jesus H. _Christ_!" Johnson was roaring from outside, his fumbling fingers grappling with the sub-machine gun slung across his back. He looked to Parker with wild eyes, then back to the ball of fire now hovering directly overhead. "What _is _that?" he finally rasped, voice full of fear.

Parker could hear shouts coming from the base behind him as legions of soldiers spilled out of the building, their sharp cries and the odd staccato burst of guns being fired without restraint telling him that most of those men already knew the answer to Johnson's question.

_We're dead men..._ Parker's inner voice whispered softly, sounding, he thought, strangely unconcerned about impending death, though the trembling that had since invaded his entire being gave lie to the notion.

Cocking his pistol despite the futility of the gesture, Parker went to stand shoulder to shoulder with his friend, and did the only thing he could do.

Prepared for the inevitable.

* * *

**Yrch Monger** - Your reviews never fail to encourage. I am so very grateful for the continued interest you show in all my fics. Thanks for sticking around through all the procrastination and for appreciating whatever I put forth. I live for your approval. ;)

**Foenixfyre** - Well grrl, it seems you've finally got the update you've been wanting! I hope it doesn't disappoint! You've been a great cheerleader, both here and within the group - big thanks for the support.

**Talon-Draven** - Talon, Talon, Talon. One of my biggest inspirations and the grrl who finally pushed me into finishing what I started oh so long ago (or did I take that 'get her butt into gear' comment the wrong way? ::winks::) Thank you so much for feeding both my ego and the flames of my creativity. TYL and especially WDW did more than just entertain me, they inspired. So again, thanks for that - and I hope to see more of your spectacular work soon. :)

**Lucid Dreamer** - Don't know if you'll be popping by anytime soon, but thought I should include you regardless. How could I not, big fan-o-mine? Your constant praise for all my work (even the non-Jeantro stuff) is so incredibly valued, that I don't even know how to thank you properly. Will big hugs and another chapter of 'The Challenge' suffice for now? ;D

**To everyone else who reviewed or read - THANK YOU! And most importantly, please continue to enjoy!**

**Much love to all,  
fury **


	4. Chapter Four

Title: Trial By Fire  
Author: furygrrl  
Archive: Just ask first  
Disclaimer: Not mine

* * *

Chapter Four

It seemed as if summer had finally arrived.

The breeze was soft, mild to the touch, and fragrant with the scents of new warmth and growing things. It streamed through the boughs of the nearby trees like elemental fingers, pulling sound from the leaves as it whispered past; a soft, sibilant hissing that only faded as the wind did.

When the last rustle had quieted, the sweet whirring of countless crickets filled the void, their simple efforts echoing through the dew-beaded blades of grass so that it was impossible to tell where one song began and another ended.

Or so thought a musing Todd Tolansky.

He crouched at the edge of the slightly wet field, crunching on some of those former nocturnal 'musicians' with as much appreciation for their flavor as he'd had for their symphonic talents, smacking his lips loudly after swallowing. "Tasty," he murmured to no one in particular.

Pietro turned to the younger mutant, the irritated look on his pale face obvious despite the darkness that pressed in from all sides like an inky curtain. "Must you do that?" he hissed, arms folded against his uniformed chest, foot tapping impatiently against the spongy ground.

"Yeah...you gotta keep that stick up your ass?" Todd quietly shot back, sliding closer to Lance who was seemingly dozing against a tree, on the off chance he might need protection.

Pietro glared at Todd's slinking form, eyes blazing with reflected starlight at the poorly offered insult, before turning back to the expanse of field that stretched out endlessly into the night.

Fred, sitting on the sodden earth a few feet away, swatted at the mosquitoes that were starting to whine past his face. "How much longer do we hafta wait here, anyway?" he groaned, big hand slapping at his cheek when he felt something land on it.

"How should I know?" Pietro responded, foot still beating a rapid tattoo against the grass, not bothering to look over to his teammate.

"Well, _he_ told you to bring us here, didn't he? He must've told you _something_ about tonight's little excursion," came Lance's mocking voice moments later.

Pietro spun about angrily. "I told you a _gazillion_ times already – he didn't tell me _anything_! Just where to go, when to be there, and that we were all expected. Stop trying to insinuate that I'm in his confidences, 'cause I'm _not_!" the white-haired youth snapped, hands going to his hips in his exasperation.

Lance's eyes slid open at the other's hushed outburst, chocolate brown orbs deepening to pools of midnight within the shadows of the overhanging tree branches. He smirked, conveying wordlessly just how much he believed Pietro's vehemence, which was, of course, not at all.

Pietro's fists clenched at his sides, hating that lopsided grin and the silent message behind it. He was just about to let Lance know just how _much_ he despised it, when a shadow darker than the rest began to descend from above, detaching from the black sky and coming to rest within the Brotherhood's midst.

Each boy straightened up with wide eyes, all previous thought fleeing at the sudden appearance of the mentor they hadn't seen in months.

Magneto's booted feet made no sound as they came in contact with the damp earth. Once grounded, a flick of a gloved wrist flung his concealing cloak outward, revealing the gleam of body armor that encased him from neck to knee, the helmet he usually wore nestled casually in the crook of his left arm. Eyes as piercingly bright as Pietro's took in the assembled quartet with a barely restrained eagerness, a look that none of the boys – not even his own son – had ever seen cross his face before.

"I am glad you are all here," Magneto intoned into the silence, the crickets having ceased their early summer serenade the moment he'd arrived. "Glad that you, the first of my children, will be privy to the birth of a new era for mutant-kind," he continued, moving close enough to Pietro so that he could place his hand on the boy's slender shoulder.

Pietro, proud that he hadn't flinched at the unexpected contact, glanced up to the man he barely knew as a father, licking his lips before venturing to speak. "Wh-what exactly do you mean by that?" he managed, inwardly despising himself for being intimidated of his own flesh and blood.

Magneto's eyes, nearly colourless against the night, flicked down to meet the identical pair gazing up at him questioningly. He felt his lips stretch slightly in response, the barest hint of a smile gracing his chiseled features, and then he turned back to look out over the meadow that lay behind him.

Lance, Todd, and Fred came to stand next to the father and son, following the older man's stare until each of them were able to pick out the subtle lines that indicated a structure of some kind in the distance. A shadow that had gone unnoticed until one's attention was specifically directed to it.

"Watch...and learn," Magneto replied softly, not able to disguise the expectancy that accompanied those few, cryptic words.

A minute or two passed, quiet descended once again, uneasy and tangible - one that not even the night creatures were wont to disturb, and still the group stared out from their position against the tree line that bordered the field.

Lance swallowed nervously, about to ask what they were supposed to be looking for, when a white flare suddenly caught his eye, glittering brightly against the velvet tapestry of night.

_A shooting star_, he thought immediately, about to dismiss it as nothing out of the ordinary...until the gleaming speck began to grow. "What the hell?" he mumbled without thinking, watching as the errant light soared high over his head, and then out across the glade, becoming brighter with every passing second.

And then stopped dead in mid air.

_Right above that building..._ Lance realized, his initial surprise fading beneath the onslaught of apprehension that suddenly tightened all his muscles at once.

In the time it took him to register that strangely disconcerting thought, the star began to move again – only now, it was plummeting towards the earth with a speed that rivaled even Quicksilver's talents. Its pure whiteness of only moments before became streamers of crimson and orange as it surged more fully into view, the colours trailing behind the glowing body like the tail of a comet.

A fearful voice blurted out "It's a fireball!", and Lance felt his head nod in agreement, unable to tear his gaze away from what he knew was about to happen.

The fireball, it's reflected light now fully illuminating the building, struck its target with the force of a warhead, the instant of impact flashing so brilliantly that it blinded those not prepared, the sound of destruction rushing through the ears of the distant spectators seconds later.

Lance threw an arm up to shield his night-sensitive eyes from the glare, staring in open-mouthed amazement as flames ripped through the rectangular structure hundreds of yards away, subsequent explosions from whatever the building housed causing the ground beneath his feet to tremble faintly.

"Holy _shit_, yo!" Todd yelped, clutching at an equally frightened Fred, burying his face against the larger boy's protruding stomach.

The gently caressing evening breeze was now an intensely dry warmth fanning past them, no longer smelling of the moist birthing of a new season, instead bringing with it an odor of acrid smoke, of hot metal, making their eyes burn and stealing the tears that blinked forth in response.

Lance inhaled sharply without thinking, taking in a breath of tainted air that made him cough, the taste of ashes flooding across his tongue. He scowled and spat, rubbing his arm across his mouth for good measure, feeling his eyes widen as the flaming ruin suddenly flared with new life.

"What is _that_?" Fred boomed in alarm, pointing towards the fiery maelstrom in the distance with a shaking hand, Todd clinging to his arm like a burr.

It was as if the fire, having consumed what it could from the building's shell, was pulling back into itself, raising upwards from the devastation, its multi-hued tendrils of flame slowly coalescing into one shining golden form that moved with a mind of its own.

Awe-stricken, the members of the Brotherhood watched as the fire began to shape itself – as two great wings flapped into existence on either side of a radiantly glittering body, and a beaked head suddenly screamed to life atop a sinuous flaxen neck.

"Wh-what _is that_?!" Fred repeated shrilly, holding tight to Todd, as the giant firebird swept itself up to hover over the massive bonfire it had created.

"Mankind's judgement, come sooner than it expected," Magneto's silkily pleased voice whispered, startling the boys who had almost forgotten his presence.

They all turned to level shocked and questioning stares at him, waiting for him to explain what they were witnessing more fully. But his lips, quirked into a smile of extreme satisfaction, were pressed close together, offering no further information.

To Pietro, the serene look his father wore was more easily read than any other reply would have been. _He planned this...whatever just happened was all his making..._

Trying to decide whether he should take pride in that fact, or allow the uneasy fear that never left the pit of his stomach take precedence, Pietro glanced back to the firebird, just in time to see another incredibly huge form pull itself from the rubble.

A giant man-like creature was struggling out of the ruined cavity of the blazing building. With glowing red eyes and skin the colour of soot, it seemed a macabre child ripping free of the womb, its enormous hands shredding the remaining structural supports that were impeding its escape.

"Holy shit..." Lance whispered, unconsciously echoing Todd's statement, stunned by the latest turn of events.

The firebird, having noticed the much larger survivor, let out a raucous shriek that echoed across the field, and then swept down to do battle with it. Talons entirely comprised of flame gripped the creature's face and, before the more ungainly participant could even retaliate, ripped it from its squarish-shaped head, sending a shower of blue sparks dancing across the sky.

The giant shuddered wildly, arms flailing uselessly as it still struggled to rise to its full height, until it slowed and stopped moving completely. Listing dangerously, it swayed lifelessly for the space of several heartbeats before gravity won out, sending the massive thing crashing down back into the charred ruins it had crawled from, the thunderous shock wave felt by all five distant observers.

It fell...and moved no more.

Realizing that no other enemies were forthcoming, the bird let out another shriek – this time one of victory – and started to make its way from the carnage that lay beneath it...directly towards where the Brotherhood was standing.

"Why's that _thing_ coming over here?" Todd choked out, fear making his voice jump several octaves.

Lance, equally as unnerved by the approach of the fiery beast, wanted to reassure his younger friend, but couldn't put such thoughts into words. He was too transfixed by the wings of living flame getting ever closer, expecting to soon feel the rush of heat, the acrid smell of hair beginning to singe, only to belatedly note the surprising absence of either sensations.

The bright creature dipped low in the sky and eventually glided down to the field, landing less that twenty paces away from its night-hidden audience. It then seemed to stretch, a silent and graceful spectacle rearing up against the dark - wings fanning out, head angling back, the cruelly hooked beak yawning wide - until the flames grew faint, beginning to fade and shrink, dwindling to near imperceptibility but for a solitarily glowing figure at its center.

"No way," Lance breathed, stunned beyond all measure as that shining body stepped free of the lingering tendrils of flame and began walking unhurriedly towards him and the others. "There's no _way_ that - that thing - could be human!"

"Bite your tongue," Magneto murmured absently, his words lacking the angry indignation he so obviously meant to convey. He moved forward to intercept that approaching figure, his hand outstretched and beckoning. "She is no more of that verminous rabble than any of you are - less so, now that she has come into her full powers."

_She? Full powers?_

The questions formed in each of the four minds not yet privy to the full nature of the situation, but there was no opportunity to speak them.

The radiant specter had slipped past the trees and was, even now, touching her fingertips to Magneto's upturned palm, the shroud of luminous firelight obscuring her identity rolling off her body like rivulets of red-gold water to swirl around her feet in a puddle of writhing flame.

"A most remarkable display, my dear," the older man was murmuring to the girl, his hand closing around hers with a decidedly proprietary air.

With her back to them, it was an elemental disrobing that did nothing to assuage the apprehensive curiosity of the wary boys standing nearby - all Lance was able to discern was a cloud of scarlet tresses, drifting on the heated air currents surrounding the woman's black and gold sheathed body. An outfit, he noted with the vague appreciation of a teenaged boy, that seemed to be less clothing and more a glittering second skin, so tightly did it cling and cup her curves, leaving only the smooth expanse of her bare arms visible.

Laughter, throaty and darkly amused, suddenly resounded, wafting from the female like an audible perfume. "I gathered you'd approve of my methods, though something tells me that your young men are rather enjoying the view afforded by my new uniform with far greater appreciation," a tantalizingly familiar voice purred.

"Propriety is often forgotten in the presence of the divine," Magneto demurred with a faint smile, using his grip on her to slowly spin her about, presenting her to the rapt audience nearby.

Lance reeled as if struck, the gasps of disbelief from his housemates hissing from either side of him, as a well-known face finally turned to regard them - though looking somehow changed since the last time he'd seen it. He quickly assessed the girl's features, trying to discern what the anomaly was.

The high cheekbones, the straight nose, the porcelain skin - all were the same, as was the lush bow of her mouth, despite the smile that had curved it into something altogether wicked. It wasn't until he met her eyes that the difference was discovered, and instant uneasiness surged through his blood.

Eyes that should have been the clearest, most vibrant of greens, now held the muted glow of smoldering embers, a more pronounced, flickering inner flame dancing within their depths the longer he stared.

As if pleased by the stunned reactions her unveiling had garnered, the girl smiled more fully, showing the gleam of even, white teeth, and then blinked. When her lashes fluttered up, the fire was gone. Only dazzling green remained.

"It - it _is_ you!" Pietro's breathless voice was the first to break the silence.

The girl bubbled with laughter, fire flaring once again in her eyes and threading through her hair like streaks of molten gold, the incandescent nimbus surrounding her bathing the youths' forms in a backwash of light and forcing them to squint. She sauntered towards them with a rolling, exaggerated strut, starlit fingers of one hand reaching out to touch Pietro's clenched jaw, the other moving to stroke Todd's cheek even as the younger boy cringed.

"I'm not the girl you once knew," she told them in a gleefully hushed voice, as if sharing some amusing secret. "I've been reborn."

Lance tried not to flinch when one of those bright hands cupped his chin next, its mate trailing over Fred's girth almost teasingly, but a pair of blazing eyes turned on him a second later, and fear shriveled his insides despite his resolve.

The girl seemed to know exactly what effect her nearness was causing, and a grin split her lips as she leaned into the Brotherhood's leader, both hands reuniting when they met over his heart to press against his chest. She angled her head, positioning her mouth next to the trembling boy's ear, and, though she whispered her words, every person there heard what she said as clearly as if she'd shouted.

"Fear is good," she hissed sweetly, "but _worship_ is better."

Her warm breath tickled his skin until she pulled away to eye all four faces with a darkly joyous expression, every part of her shimmering radiantly - until, like a switch had been thrown, the flames wreathing her suddenly extinguished as if they'd never been. Her frame shuddered and she gasped, an indecipherable sound of protest following directly after.

She swayed, touched a hand to her brow in confusion, and then her eyes rolled back in her head and she crumpled to the ground - or would have, had Magneto not intercepted her, helmet falling to his feet unnoticed as he scooped her limp body into his arms. He gazed down at her face, eyes hooded but obviously concerned, before looking up to the Brotherhood who had seemingly overcome their faintheartedness, and were now creeping towards him.

"It's past time we departed," the older mutant finally said, the discarded helmet rising up behind him and settling on his silvery head as he adjusted the girl's slight weight. "I would suggest you all do likewise," he advised before striding purposefully into the forest.

"So...you're leaving? Just like that?" Pietro blurted out, confusion making him bold. He traded a look of stunned surprise with his teammates. "We don't even get some kind of explanation?"

His father hesitated. "I will be joining you in Bayville for a time," he finally replied, turning to look over his shoulder. "All will be explained then."

"Is she..." Pietro swallowed nervously. "Is she coming with you?"

"Delicate negotiations require a woman's touch," Magneto said enigmatically, as if those words would somehow explain all. He started walking again, his final words, now tinged with laughter, floating behind him on the cool evening breeze.

"Who better to conduct them, than Jean Grey, the first of my Acolytes?"


	5. Chapter Five

Title: Trial By Fire  
Author: furygrrl  
Archive: Just ask first  
Rating: PG - R  
Disclaimer: Not mine

* * *

Chapter Five

"Professor?"

"Yes, Cyclops, go ahead."

"We've finished sweeping the area."

"I take it that your search was uneventful?"

Charles Xavier, seated before a massive computer console, heard the frustrated sigh of his pupil filter through the headset he wore as his nimble fingers danced along the keyboard. Pausing to gently rub eyelids that fluttered closed with brief exhaustion, he let out a pained breath of his own. "Cyclops?"

"We found no trace of her, sir," the young man finally replied, his voice coming through the com-link crisp with irritation.

Xavier didn't bother to chide his student for his biting tone. He understood Scott's feelings all too well. They stemmed from the two sleepless nights that had passed, from the worry that was rapidly becoming an unsettling fear, and an increasingly fruitless search for the friend and teammate that had vanished without a trace three days ago.

As it was, he wished he could indulge in a moment of frustration-venting himself, hating having to bottle up the sensations of furious impotence that had been building within him since Jean's absence had been discovered, but he couldn't.

_I have to remain calm...in control..._ his inner voice reminded, making him shake his head wearily.

"Sir?" Cyclops' tinny voice queried, still waiting for his mentor to issue orders.

Xavier opened his eyes to stare dully at the coloured grid map that took up the entire monitor's surface, looking to see which areas hadn't been checked yet. "Co-ordinates have been transmitted. Let me know what you find," he finally said, fingers once again moving across the keys.

"Copy that, sir," Scott answered, a short burst of static following the sound of his voice, and then...blessed silence.

The telepath took the opportunity to remove the headset, tossing the device onto the computer console with a quiet clatter, his figure slumping tiredly into his wheelchair. He reached for the mug of coffee that sat on a worktable to his left, face twisting with distaste as the cold, stale liquid made contact with the interior of his mouth.

_Didn't I just pour this?_

Exhaling dejectedly, he returned the mug to its place with shaking hands, slopping some of the cream-laden fluid over the porcelain rim and down the curve of his wrist. He absently wiped his dripping hand across the front of his rumpled shirt, not particularly caring that those few droplets of coffee were staining the expensive material, too caught up in thoughts of what to do next.

_I wonder how much longer I can keep going without sleep..._ he mused distractedly, rubbing again at eyes that prickled with fatigue, his entire body shuddering longingly at the fleeting thought of the comfortable bed several floors above him.

_It'll be quiet for the next hour or so...maybe I could..._

"Chuck?" Logan's crackling voice suddenly sounded from the discarded com-link.

Replacing the ear clip and adjusting the tiny receiver in front of his mouth, Xavier waited for the other man to continue.

"I just finished checking out the Sentinel base...or what was left of it."

"It was destroyed then?"

"Yeah, you were right – whatever you an' Cerebro picked up on last night definitely hit this place hard an' fast."

"Details, Logan – what _exactly_ did you find?" Xavier demanded, fingers gripping the arms of his chair, fighting to keep impatience from colouring his tone.

"The whole thing was razed...burned t' the ground as far as I can tell. I couldn't get in for a close look, though – the entire area was swarming with uniforms obviously on clean-up detail."

"Did you see any sign of Sentinels? Or that there had been a battle?"

"Aside from the building itself, nothing was torn up – not even the meadow, so I don't think there was much of a fight. As for the Sentinels, if the fleet of trucks carting away big hunks of giant melted body parts was any indication, I'd say we won't have to worry about 'em coming from this direction any time soon."

Xavier's thudding heart slowed slightly in response to Logan's report – still completely mystified by what might have taken place at the secret government base the night before, but relieved in knowing that at least one threat had been neutralized in the process. "Good work, Logan," he murmured. "You can head back to the Institute if you're finished there."

His words met silence.

"Logan?" Xavier repeated, finger tapping curiously against the cord that connected the link to the console.

"I heard ya, Chuck," the other man's disgruntled voice finally sounded, causing Xavier to nod to himself in sudden understanding.

"Ah," the telepath sighed. "You wish to rejoin the others, I take it?"

"Like you even have t' ask?" Logan muttered in response.

Xavier knew that it would be futile to argue with him, but he tried anyway, concerned for his friend's state of mind of late. "Logan, you've been on the road for days. I feel it would be best for you to return and -"

"Don't try to sway me, Charles," Logan interrupted, suddenly angry. "I know what needs to be done, and besides," his voice softened slightly. "I'm not the only stubborn one refusing to let up on this, now am I?"

Xavier didn't bother to hide the bitter amusement that swelled up at the other's comment, knowing full well that Logan was referring to him. He chuckled a little, though it seemed to take effort to do even that. "Very well. Since you're in the area, why don't you cover that block of territory and check in with me when you're done?"

The connection went dead. Logan, obviously in some haste, didn't seem predisposed to offer any parting words.

Xavier removed the headset once again, hoping that the other man's hell bent desire to find the missing member of their flock would result in something they could use to their advantage, and not just see him passed out from exhaustion in some ditch in the middle of nowhere.

Upon that thought, the Professor realized that he should take his own advice to heart and get some much needed sleep, even if it was only for a few hours. He began to make his way towards the elevator that would take him back up into to main levels of the mansion, his mind musing over the components of Logan's report as he did so.

The one thing that didn't make sense – the one piece of information that he hadn't revealed to anyone yet – was clashing with the new data he'd just received.

_The Sentinel base...demolished. _

_The Sentinels themselves...destroyed_.

_No sign of an adversary, of a pitched battle, of some outside military involvement... _

Surrounded by the metallic walls of the lift, he stifled a yawn and pressed the button for the upper floor, sure that the confusion he was experiencing was due to the hazy muddle his brain had become from lack of rest.

_Cerebro detected a mutant signature in the base's vicinity..._

The doors slid shut and the elevator began to rise.

_A signature that couldn't be logged, couldn't be dissected or traced to any known mutant..._

He shook his head as he rolled out of the closet-sized conveyance, the silent oppressiveness of the empty house weighing on him like something heavy.

_Except for one, if only slightly..._

Inside his room, he started to remove his stained shirt clumsily, eyes narrowing in thought.

_But it **couldn't** have been her. Whatever Cerebro had picked up had been too different, too powerful - far too **alien** - to have been Jean..._

He shook his head, pushing away the notion that his lost surrogate daughter had any hand in the Albany base's destruction, instead letting himself sink into the comfort of his cool sheets, cheek resting against the smoothness of his pillow gratefully.

_But if she **hadn't** been involved, then who – or what – had been?_

The unsettling possibilities that accompanied such a question would normally have kept sleep at bay, but in his drained state, Xavier let the many different problems drift away as his consciousness sunk into the folds of a dreamless slumber.


	6. Chapter Six

Title: Trial By Fire  
Author: furygrrl  
Archive: Just ask first  
Rating: PG - R  
Disclaimer: Not mine

* * *

Chapter Six

Drifting through the dark, she was at peace.

Lingering in the perfect nothingness of the void, there was no sound, no sight...nothing that could touch her. She simply existed – a part of the surrounding oblivion, and yet, apart from it as well.

Had she lips in this place, she might have smiled at the contradiction.

She continued to float...patient, unconcerned, content...

'..._All...that...is...I am...'_

A dry rasping whispered past her insubstantial form, disturbing the emptiness, echoing faintly as if coming from a great distance.

She tried to pull back when the anomaly caused the darkness to ripple alarmingly, tried to pull away from that disembodied voice that seemingly had no true source, but she had no control over the void – or the consciousness she projected while within it.

Had she ears in this place, she might have covered them in aversion.

'..._I was...born...with the first fire...'_

The voice rose in volume, the whisper becoming a muted moan that she could sense all around her, eddying like the swirls of a lazy current. That she could feel anything defied possibility, but the warm touch was there nonetheless, brushing across phantom limbs and skin that existed in another place and time.

Another sound - a deep, rhythmic throbbing - stirred to wakefulness at the voice's emergence. Quiet yet, it caused the boundaries of the nothingness to quiver in response.

'..._Nothing lives...that is not touched...by a part of me...'_

The echoing words reverberated with increasing strength, working jointly with the steady pulse to shake the darkness, enough so that a piece of black tapestry fell away. A distant shimmer, a pinprick of light, rose up to claim the newly created cavity.

Had she eyes in this place, she might have looked away from the aberration in horror.

As it was, she was trapped, unable to extricate her mind from the emptiness that was rapidly filling, forced to watch, to listen, and to feel what was to come.

The fluttering warmth, once so serene, so gentle, was even now chasing away what was left of the void's soothing numbness, intensifying much the same way the voice was, the droning pulse was, the flaring starburst within the dark was.

'_...the stars...**the stars**...' _

The words began to whirl around her with the force a dervish, no longer hushed, no longer calm; the once mournful moan becoming the broken cries of something truly struck with grief.

The pulsating thrum rumbled in accompaniment, like the heartbeat of a god, riding the black walls of the boundary until they started to crack beneath the thunderous strain. Pieces of darkness started to fall, crystal-like shards of rain, infusing the emptiness with dissonant music.

Had she lungs in this place, she would have cried out - to return to the silence - to be released - for it all to end. But she had no corporeal form, no lungs, no breath, no mouth, no voice...

There was only one voice.

And it was screaming.

'**_THE STARS – ARE – MY – CHILDREN!'_**

The pulse rolled in deafening response, and colour began streaming through the jagged holes left its devastating wake – an infinite number of flaming tendrils, licking through the battered black curtain, lighting the lightlessness, blinding eyes that she did not have.

It was as if the heart of the sun itself had suddenly erupted around her, and now, instead of the dark, the numbness, the emptiness, there was only brightness and heat and the sonorous throbbing of its core, roiling around her overwhelmingly.

Her phantom form convulsed, wild at the immersion, struggling against its pull.

And pull it did.

She realized that she was no longer floating like chaff upon the wind, but was spiraling down...down...down... Towards a speck of light that was fast becoming ever larger with every passing second, it's brilliance spreading outward, stretching like the vines of a creeper, appearing as a sea of pure white flame, churning maddeningly where only the center of the abyss had been before.

The pull was stronger, she could feel her speed increase, could feel the heat growing, could see the flames getting closer...

She was falling into the sun.

She screamed – or believed that she did – the sound lost amid the pounding cacophony that continued to resound.

The fire stirred at her wordless cry, swirling crazily until it had taken form.

A bird's head, with eyes like twin starlit skies, strained forth, its great maw opening to let out a piercing shriek.

Terror, instant and unreasonable, ripped into her at the sight of the creature, and she desperately tried to slow her descent to no avail.

"**WHAT _ARE_ YOU?"** she screamed uselessly, begging the same question she'd asked a hundred or more times over.

The same reply that had met each of her queries roared out from that enormous head of fire, burning into her brain, searing it to ashes.

_'THE SUM AND SUBSTANCE OF LIFE...'_

She fell...

_'ALL THAT IS, IS KNOWN TO ME...'_

She fell...

_'I AM OF CREATION, THE MOTHER OF STARS...'_

She fell...

_'I MAY BE SALVATION...OR DAMNATION...OR BOTH...'_

She fell into that mouth of flame, and was consumed.

_'I AM FIRE - THE SOUL - THE SPIRIT - LIFE INCARNATE - NOW AND FOREVER...'_

The void shattered completely, and she became one with the holocaust, but not before the voice echoed within her subconscious one final time.

The voice that had been hers all along.

_'**I AM PHOENIX!'**_

* * *

A heartbeat, steady, soft, soothingly natural, was what welcomed her back to awareness.

Jean opened her eyes hesitantly, and the blackness of true night rather than the astral plane, greeted her – that, and the darkness of the shirt-covered chest she was leaning against.

_Logan..._ was her instant, groggy thought, prompting her to relax more fully into the rigid arms that encircled her shoulders. Her hand came up to take a handful of fabric, clinging tightly to the muscled form she'd been propped next to, a sigh of relief slipping from between her lips automatically.

The body she burrowed into stilled at her movement, the arms around her going rigid with an uneasy tenseness that served to wake her fully.

Her fingers twitched.

The shirt she clung to wasn't Logan's worn tee. No, this fabric was so finely spun that it felt like brushed satin to her skin.

_A dress shirt..._ she realized, smoothing her hand over the material curiously, tilting her head so that she could see who wore it.

Eyes as cold and emotionless as ice met hers, blank but for a spark of something she couldn't quite place in her muddled state.

"Erik," she murmured in realization, her voice sounding strangely weak to her ears. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?" he asked, deep voice noncommittal.

Jean closed her eyes and sighed, allowing her head to fall back against Magneto's solid form, too weary to bother pulling away from him, or to analyze the awkwardness of the situation. His heartbeat thrummed reassuringly into her ear once again, chasing away the small amount of embarrassment that was struggling to rise up.

"No...not really," she began haltingly, wanting to express her confusion, when something in her brain clicked, calling forth a myriad of images that spewed through her head and wiped away the mental fog.

Leaving the X-Men for Magneto.

Entering his enhancement chamber.

Emerging with powers that already far exceeded her wildest expectations, powers that she hadn't even finished exploring yet, despite the numerous tests and exercises her new mentor had devised as part of the recuperation process.

Their journey from a coastal estate - one of his many bases of operations - to upstate New York in a curious metal sphere.

The sweet warmth of summer enveloping her body as she took to the air above the government installation.

_And that's when the power had taken over_...

Power...like a rush of radiant energy, surging through her veins, under her skin, flaring inside her skull, filling her to the brim, filling her to overflowing, dribbling out through her pores like champagne bubbles.

A presence in her head, forceful and painful and blindingly beautiful, heavy with knowledge – with an agelessness – an impatience – a _hunger_...

_Oh God, so much **hunger**..._

It had infused her entire being, that appetite - that all-consuming need, quelling any thoughts save those bent on the exhilaration of destruction - and experiencing the purity of all attendant sensations - driving her to the base like one possessed until it, and all within, lay before her.

Smoking...blasted...utterly ruined...

"Fitting tribute for a Goddess," Jean murmured before she knew what she was saying. She felt a gleefully satisfied giggle building in her throat at that notion, at that final image of devastation, but swallowed it back down with some effort. "I – I destroyed the base...didn't I?" she asked quietly, both fearful and excited by the expected response.

"You did," Magneto intoned, sounding more than pleased. "You were _magnificent_," followed on an admiring breath, his arms tightening around her slightly.

Jean could only nod, having little strength to more than that. "I feel weak," she muttered, stating the obvious.

"Understandably so," Magneto soothed, one hand moving to slide down her back. "You collapsed afterwards."

Jean made an irritated noise, no more pleased by the information than by her inability to clearly recall events leading up to that point. "Where are we?" she asked suddenly, not wanting to dwell on either matter.

"In Bayville. The Brotherhood Boarding House."

"Bayville?" Jean looked up at the man, a frown of angry confusion furrowing her brow. "Why? Why have you brought me back _here_?"

Magneto smiled faintly. "A brief visit, nothing more than that."

"A visit with who?" Jean demanded tightly, her rapid shift in mood stirring her powers to wakefulness and making her shiver.

Unhurriedly, Magneto disentangled himself from her and rose from his seat on the edge of the bed - Jean only then realized that the softness beneath her was that of a velvet duvet-covered mattress - and held out a hand for her to rise. "Come, there are others who need to hear the answer to that question as well."

* * *

To the always wonderful reviewers:

Talon - You? A horrible reviewer? Pshaw! Anything you write - rambling or otherwise - is pure gold, m'dear. I'm so glad to hear you're still enjoying my procrastinating efforts, especially since your fics were so instrumental in getting me motivated again - and that I might be returning the favour to some small degree. (Want more CLINIC!) Hee! Lancie and Pie-Pie are doing just fine (now that they've been properly trained), but if you feel like sending over any of those neglected 'goddessless animals' of yours, you won't get any complaints outta me! :D

A. Ceretta - As with Talon, I say PSHAW! Your opinions are never lowly. Offer them as often and as freely as necessary - I love hearing what you have to say! In the case of Lance and Jean, you're absolutely right. In a previous draft (one that I axed eons ago) I had him so riddled with guilt that he was finding it difficult to function. In this different direction that I decided to go with, I'm planning on doing something similar, so here's hoping it works out. ;)

Yrch - ::hands over several freshly baked choco-chip treats in the shape of nekkid Evo boys::  
You never fail to crack me up - your reviews are simply priceless. Where's Logan... XD As for the Jean/Remy... ::evil grin:: We'll just have to wait and see, no won't we? Hee! Torment is fun! Besides giving me the giggles, you've also succeeded to, once again, swell my head like some horrible ego balloon. It thrills me to no end that you're simply reading my stuff, let alone enjoying it. I hope I continue to meet with your esteemed approval. ;)


End file.
